


the pink album

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguing, Bad Dreams, Bottom Louis, Established Relationship, Fighting, Happy Ending, I'm really sorry, Jamaica, M/M, Making Up, Parties, Rough Sex, Teasing, bad communication skills, blood mention, drug mention, just some general yikes, more arguing, more making up, more silly drama, some sappy phone calls ew, sorry - Freeform, uhhh some hella angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: They don’t really discuss how hard it is to be in this situation, or to be doing the things they have to do to continue being together. It’s just something they don’t talk about, and that’s alright. Or maybe it isn’t, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.Or, a love seven years in the making, inspired by Harry's debut album.





	1. meet me in the hallway

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to this absolute cluster fuck!
> 
> so this is going to be a ten part series, and each part is based off of a song from Harry's album. the story works in a chronological order but every chapter can be read independently, and i recommend listening to the album while reading to get the full experience. chapters will be posted every sunday and wednesday for five weeks, enjoy!

It’s hard to admit that maybe things aren’t as good as they were before. It’s not anyone’s fault, not either of theirs, anyway. It’s everyone else’s fault, really. Or at least that’s what Harry’s going to keep telling himself.

She’s everywhere. At every show, every appearance, every award show and fan meetup. She’s always got her arm around Harry’s boyfriend, always got her long, spidery fingers laced with his. She doesn’t want to be there any more than Harry wants her there, that much he knows, but there’s nothing any of them can do to make it stop.

They said that this would be temporary, and at the end, maybe they’d be able to come out together and put an end to the rumors once and for all with the truth. They’ve been dating almost since they met, when they spent the week at Harry’s bungalow and couldn’t hold their feelings in any longer. It’s been a bit, now, but the feelings are still there, even if they can’t show them in public.

Harry doesn’t fully understood why they’re not allowed to be out. He was out in school, after all, and Louis’s just about the most flamboyant person he’s ever met. Most of their fanbase already thinks they’re dating, anyway, and they’re not turned off by the idea; the argument that coming out would cost them their fame is absolutely ludicrous.

So, she’s everywhere. Louis hadn’t been extremely fond of the idea of a fake girlfriend, but he’d rather do it than see Harry do it, so he’d eventually accepted. Eleanor is her name, and she’s gorgeous, with long thin legs and long wavy hair and thin, she’s wearing thin on Harry’s patience.

She’s sweet. She laughs at all of the jokes Louis makes to try and ease the tension in the room whenever she’s there. She’s never pushy or needy with Louis public, is as delicate and careful and Louis deserves. She keeps her distance when they’re behind closed doors, gives Harry small, apologetic smiles, and hardly speaks to him unless she has to.

Still, it grates on Harry’s nerves. He hates seeing Louis hold her hand, hates seeing Eleanor reach for it. He’s shed more than a few tears over it already, but never in front of Louis, because that would only hurt Louis more than he’s already hurting.

Except, Harry thinks keeping it from him might be hurting him more. He sees the way Louis stares after him when he steals away to have a cry in the toilet, and he feels the way Louis runs his fingers down his spine in the middle of the night when he’s trying to sleep without crying himself there. He won’t tell him, though, will never tell him how much his heart aches when he watches Louis kiss her cheek or sees pictures of them out on fake dates. He wants to be in her place, longs for the photoshopped images the fans make of him in her place to be real, and he never utters a word about it. He knows Louis is doing this for him, after all, and it would only hurt him to know that in an effort to make their relationship work, he’s absolutely ruining Harry.

But it’s not his fault, Harry reminds himself, following the rest of the band down the few concrete steps out of the back of the studio they’ve been filming interviews in all day. The asphalt of the parking lot is burning hot, he can tell, even through the rubber soles of his shoes, but his own blood is nearly hot enough to match it.

Louis’s got one arm around Eleanor’s shoulders, a sharpie in the other hand while he signs something for a fan. He looks like a proper popstar, with a hot girl wrapped around his side and dozens of teenagers melting down for his attention. His life would be so much easier if that was real, Harry thinks, keeping his head down and the moisture in his eyes while he cuts past the fans and straight onto the bus. He glances back as he steps inside, catches Eleanor watching him with her lips pursed, Louis’s jaw clenched tight around a fake smile for the fans.

Harry can’t help but roll his eyes, kicking his shoes off and climbing into his bunk. He whips the curtain shut and turns over to face the wall, squeezing his eyes shut hard until a few tears make their way out, dripping over the bridge of his nose and down onto his pillow.

Hopefully, Louis will know better than to leave him alone right now, even though he’s undoubtedly in the universal position for _leave me alone_. He hopes to anything that they won’t make Eleanor get on the bus, too, or that, at the very least, they’ll pull over in a few blocks and let her off into a car of her own.

Shockingly, the person who pulls the curtain back isn’t Louis. Harry turns over and squints at the light, making out Zayn’s sympathetic face looking back at him.

“Alright?” he asks quietly, squeezing Harry’s shoulder a little. Harry can’t help the way the corners of his lips pull down, but he doesn’t say anything, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“I fucking hate her,” Zayn mutters. “Look at what she’s done. Fucking hell, I just don’t know how they think this is okay,” he says.

“It’s not her fault,” Harry shrugs. “It’s her job. Shitty job, I think.”

“It is her fault,” Zayn says. “She signed a fucking contract to do this, Haz. She signed up for this,” he says.

“Don’t make me hate her, please,” Harry breathes. “It’ll only make it harder to see her with him.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, but only after a long pause. “That makes sense. Sorry, bro.”

“Is she coming on the bus?” Harry asks, wiping at his eyes again and stretching up to peek over Zayn’s shoulder.

“No, she just got in a car,” Zayn says. “She’s meeting us at the hotel.”

“Do you know they’re not letting Louis and I sleep in the same room tonight?” Harry says. “They booked us separate rooms. It’s like they think that if they just treat us like we’re not together, maybe we’ll magically break up and they’ll finally have their way. Wouldn’t that be so easy,” he chuckles humorlessly, closing his eyes and pressing his face into the pillow.

“So, go to his room after everyone’s asleep,” Zayn suggests. “They can’t fucking decide where you sleep.”

“True,” Harry says. “I don’t know. Louis hasn’t even looked at me all day,” he says, keeping his eyes shut.

“Because we’ve been on camera all day, and he’s not allowed to,” Zayn reminds him. 

“What if he starts to resent me? Because I’m making him do this?”

“You’re not making him do anything,” Zayn assures. “He’s doing this because he loves you, and he wants to be able to tell the world that someday soon. He’s got nothing to resent you for,” he says.

“You’re so wise, Zayn,” Harry says, but he’s crying again, voice coming out strangled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t cry, Hazza,” Zayn pouts, squeezing his shoulder again. “It’ll be alright. Just give it time.”

He leaves Harry alone after that, pulls his curtain back closed and shuffles out to the lounge. Harry pulls himself together in the dark, doesn’t want to still be crying when Louis comes to find him.

Except, Louis doesn’t come to find him. The bus starts moving and Harry sits up in panic, his mind telling him immediately that Louis isn’t on the bus, he took the car with Eleanor because it’s easier and he’s choosing her over Harry, because the fans and the rest of the world like to see them together more than they’d ever like to see him with Harry and their stupid fucking management won.

He stumbles out of his bunk and into the lounge to find that that isn’t true, at least not yet. Louis is sprawled out on the sofa next to Niall, playing on his phone, but he looks up when Harry comes in.

He holds his arm out wordlessly, inviting Harry to come cuddle in a way that doesn’t need an explanation. Harry does, relief filling his gut, crawling onto the sofa and fitting himself between Louis’s side and the back cushions. Louis’s arm comes down across his shoulders, holds him tight, not even flinching when Harry sticks his nose right into his neck.

“Why didn’t you come find me?” Harry whispers, quiet enough so that only Louis will hear. The other boys are talking loudly, anyway, and they don’t bother trying include Louis and Harry in conversation anymore when they’re like this.

“Thought you wanted to be left alone,” Louis says, fingers moving to Harry’s hair, massaging his scalp tenderly. “You hardly even looked at me today.”

Harry blinks, moving a fraction of an inch away from Louis’s body. “That’s not true. Or maybe you just didn’t notice, what with how much you were avoiding me.”

He’s talking loud enough for everyone to hear now, if they wanted to, but everyone else just shifts a little uncomfortably and carries on.

“The hell does that mean?” Louis frowns. “I was trying to get your attention all day.”

“Well, you did a shit job of it,” Harry says, sitting up fully.

Louis follows him, his expression confused and hurt. “You’re not exactly the easiest person to talk to when you’re all brooding and depressed, are you?”

“I’m still your boyfriend,” Harry says. “Or am I not?”

“What the fuck, Harry,” Louis breathes. “What the fuck are you-”

Everyone’s listening now, frozen to their spots. Louis and Harry hardly ever fight, but when they do, it throws off the chemistry of the entire group. 

“You’ve done nothing but avoid me since _she_ came into the picture,” Harry says, eyes budding with fresh tears. “It’s like you don’t even care about me anymore now that you’ve a _girlfriend_.”

“That’s the bloody point, Harry,” Louis says, getting frustrated now, as well. “That’s what we’re supposed to make people think. We literally signed a contract to agree to not act like that in public anymore,” he says.

“That doesn’t mean you have to act like you don’t even know me!” Harry bites. “You’re too fucking good at pretending, Louis, because either you’ve got me completely fooled or you just don’t care about me.”

“Of course I care about you!” Louis argues back. “I wouldn’t be fucking doing this if I didn’t care about you, dickhead!”

“Then why are you acting like any of it is real?” Harry says. “Why are you playing this charade so well? How are people supposed to-”

“People aren’t supposed to suspect that any of this is fake,” Louis says, voice calm, like he’s trying to calm Harry as well. Harry’s blood boils. “That’s the point, Harry, we’ve discussed this. We can’t leave bloody clues for the fans to pick up on. We signed a contract, and we have to obey it.”

“Fucking bullshit,” Harry sobs. “I wouldn’t have signed up for any of this if I knew this was how it was going to make me feel.”

“What are you saying then?” Louis rolls his eyes. “Our other option was breaking up, or leaving the band. Would one of those suit your fancy better?”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to act like she’s the love of your bloody life,” Harry says. “At least not while I’m around.”

“You know what, Harry, let’s have this conversation another time,” Louis says, pushing Harry away a little and getting up off the sofa. “We don’t need to fight about this in front of everyone. I’m going to take a nap, and if I see anyone’s face in the next two hours, I’ll rip it off.”

He says the last bit to the room at large, but Harry still feels personally attacked. He stays frozen in place, body stiff with shock and anger, as Louis shuffles into the bunk room and slams the door. He can hear Louis pull his curtain back and climb into his own bunk, and then, he swears he could hear a pin drop in the lounge.

“Harry,” Liam starts, but the sound of his voice spurs Harry into motion. He wants to take a nap as well, or at least cry in his bunk until they get to the hotel, but he doesn’t want to do it in the same room as Louis and he doesn’t want to even enter the bunk room, if he’s honest. He shuts himself in the bathroom, instead, at the back of the bus, curls himself into a ball on the floor of the tiny shower no one ever uses, and cries into his knees.

He didn’t mean to fight with Louis. He didn’t _want_ to fight with Louis. He just wanted Louis to hold him and rub his back and tell him he was sorry and that everything would be okay, and then Harry would apologize for acting like a baby and everything would be back to normal by the time they got to the next hotel. He never expected Louis to actually get upset with him, or to actually fight back instead of blindly appeasing him like he usually does when Harry whines.

Maybe that’s something Harry should get better about. Maybe he should stop being so selfish and actually think about how hard this is for Louis, as well. He can’t, though, because when he thinks about it all he can see is Louis grinning and holding that fucking girl’s hand, and Harry can’t imagine that he’s suffering as bad as Harry is.

He stays in the bathroom for the entire ride. No one knocks, even though he’s sure at least one of them has to pee. He doesn’t stay curled up in the shower, because it hurts his back quite a bit, but he doesn’t even think about unlocking the door or rejoining humanity.

His face is puffy when they do finally arrive at the hotel. Louis’s face is a little puffy, too, when he finally emerges from the bunk room, but he mostly just looks sleepy, like he just woke up from a nap. He and Liam take front door duty, greeting everyone that’s waiting outside the hotel for them, and Harry, Zayn and Niall are allowed to go in the back door of the hotel.

They reconvene in the lobby. Harry immediately seeks Louis’s attention, means to tell him he’s sorry and can he come to his room later so they can cuddle and sleep in the same bed, but Louis gives him the coldest shoulder Harry’s ever received. It hurts more than Harry thought something could hurt, and then they’re being shepherded into the lift and up to their floor. 

Louis’s room is on the opposite side of the hallway from Harry’s, and is about six doors down. All the boys have their own rooms, and the crew are sharing a few, as well, and all together, they have the whole floor booked save for one or two rooms. Harry just about chases Louis down the hall, luggage in tow, but Louis doesn’t even turn around before letting himself into his room and kicking the door shut behind him.

Harry freezes, staring at the door, until he’s the only one in the hallway. No one dares speak to him or try to calm him down and get him to his room. Harry thinks he might shatter if they did. He might shatter anyway, if he’s honest.

He knocks on Louis’s door once, twice, three times, and then finally accepts that Louis isn’t speaking to him tonight. He trudges back down the hall to his own room, breathing already ragged, and lets himself in.

He breaks down immediately. He drags himself to the shower with tears already streaming down his face and wails as he washes his own hair, feeling like the worst human. He forces himself to see it from Louis’s perspective, puts himself in Louis’s shoes. He imagines having to pretend to date and be in love with a girl he doesn’t know, and then fighting with Louis about it because Louis is jealous and irrational and is terrified of being abandoned. Finally he thinks he gets it, understands that this is probably even harder for Louis than it is for him, and that’s why Louis is so pissed off that Harry is acting like this.

He tucks himself into bed with wet hair and cries himself to sleep, sparing hardly a moment’s thought about the amount of makeup they’re going to have to cake on his face tomorrow morning so he doesn’t look so puffy for the interview they have to sit through. He doesn’t really sleep, tosses and turns all night, the absence of a lean, warm body next to him making him colder than any hotel bed has any right to.

-

They meet in the hallway the next morning. Harry is last to get there, as usual, and once everyone is accounted for, they head off for the bus to drive to the studio for the interview, and then the venue for tonight’s show, after that. 

He’s the last one on the bus, mostly because he’s dragging his feet so much, and as soon as he’s on, they set off. He staggers to the lounge and finds everyone already on the sofa, quiet and tired and fighting the urge to go back to sleep because _fuck_ it’s early.

Harry plops down on the sofa next to Louis, who is just staring blankly at his phone. He swallows his nerves and reaches for Louis’s hand, and to his surprise, Louis lets him take it. Harry laces their fingers together and Louis squeezes hard, long enough to let Harry know that they’re fine, that whatever happened last night is over and they’re alright, they’ll always be alright.

They never talk about it. The fight, that is, or anything related to it. They don’t really discuss how hard it is to be in this situation, or to be doing the things they have to do to continue being together. It’s just something they don’t talk about, and that’s alright. Or maybe it isn’t, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

Right now, Louis’s thumb is rubbing back and forth so, so gently over the back of Harry’s hand, and everything’s fine. Louis will have a day free from Eleanor today but they’ve got a pap walk scheduled for tomorrow, and Harry will do his best not to freak out again, and everything will be fine. They’ll get better at this, both of them, in time. Once they get used to it, the hard feelings and the resentment and the going whole nights without speaking, they’ll be fine. This will just have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	2. sign of the times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey,” Harry hums, leaning up to catch Louis’s lips with his own. “It’s okay. Don’t think about it. Be here with me right now,” he says, keeping his eyes locked with Louis’s until Louis nods._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _“Is that some yoga crap?” Louis chuckles, wiping at his face again. “Are you tricking me into meditating right now?”_
> 
> _“Is it working?” Harry grins, glancing up at him as he wraps the bandage around Louis’s ankle. The cut isn’t terribly big, but it’s big enough that none of the bandaids they have will fit all the way over it, so he’s just gone for some gauze and a bit of medical tape._
> 
> _“Can’t tell, think it might just be you,” Louis says, tugging Harry up from his knees once the bandage is secure. “Keep hugging me, I think that’s all the meditation I need.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one huuuurt real bad but i hope you enjoy

It starts to rain almost as soon as Harry’s plane lands in LA, which makes the day feel about as somber as it is. Not that there’s been a day recently that hasn’t been somber. It feels like all of the days are amassing into one long, somber lifetime and it’s getting hard to deal with.

It’s only been a couple weeks since Louis’s mum passed, and it simultaneously feels like she’s been gone for years and like maybe they’ll wake up one morning and she’ll call. It’s hard, but what’s harder is seeing Louis go through it. He’s so strong, the bravest person Harry knows, and though Louis does his absolute best no matter what he’s going through to put on a brave face for any and everyone, Harry knows he’s starting to crumble.

They still haven’t publicly announced that the baby isn’t his. They said, at the beginning of the whole thing, that it’d be done within a year’s time, maybe a bit longer if it was going well and they could still squeeze a few drops of promo out of it. Nobody ever dreamed it’d still be going on now, though, that Louis would have to pose for pictures for the kid’s first fucking birthday and pretend like he was his father. 

The good news is, Danielle is finally out of the picture. With that comes bad news, though, as always. It’s bittersweet whenever one of them sheds another beard; while they get to pretend they’re free for a bit, they no longer have the certainty of having the girl around, and suddenly everything is up in the air and whatever comes next could be even worse. It seems like every time Louis gets close to good things someone tightens the leash and he gets dragged back again, and he’s getting tired of starting over.

Harry tugs the back of his jacket up over his head as he ducks out of the airport, his oversized duffle nearly taking him out when it swings dangerously close to his face. He drops it into the backseat of the car waiting for him and then follows it, adjusting his jacket more comfortably and buckling his seatbelt.

“Hello, how are you?” he hums to the driver, giving the man a small smile.

“I’m just lovely today, Mr. Styles, how about yourself?”

“I’m quite well,” Harry lies, watching out the window as they pull away from the curb, headed in the direction of the private LA house, the one he shares with Louis that no one knows about.

The ride is quiet. The driver, Harry feels quite bad that he’s forgotten his name, has the radio on low, but it’s mostly drowned out by the rain beating down on the roof of the car.

“Been torrential all week,” the driver says. “They’re saying it’ll clear up within the next few days, though. Hope the weather won’t ruin any of your plans,” he says, throwing Harry a friendly smile over his shoulder.

“Oh, I haven’t got any plans for the next few days,” Harry shrugs. “Rain makes a good excuse to stay inside.”

“I hear that,” the driver nods. “I’d think it must get pretty exhausting, living the life that you do.”

Harry hums noncommittally, chewing on the inside of his lip and staring out the window. He doesn’t want to be rude, but the last thing he wants to talk about at the moment is how hard it is to live the life that he does. He doesn’t want to talk about how he’s going to have to tiptoe around his boyfriend for the next couple days, probably, or how Louis might want to talk about things that Harry’s just not ready to talk about. He doesn’t want to talk about how much pain he knows Louis is in and he doesn’t want to talk about how Louis is going to smile through it until he runs plum out of smiles to paste on over the misery.

The driver offers to carry his bag to the door for him once they arrive at the house, but Harry waves him off politely. It’s absolutely pouring, and there’s no need for the driver to get himself all soaked when Harry’s just going home anyway.

He drops the bag immediately inside the front hall and kicks the door closed, shedding his jacket. He’s drenched, quite frankly, and the air con is on for some reason, so he’s quite eager to get out of his wet clothes. He doesn’t hear any sign of Louis in the house as he heads up the stairs and finds himself wondering what he’s up to, until he gets to the top step and a loud crashing sound sends him nearly tumbling back down on his arse.

He runs for the bedroom, where the noise came from, heart pumping. It sounded like something fell and shattered, something big, and Harry’s terrified that Louis’s hurt.

“Lou?” he calls, shoving against the bedroom door because it sticks sometimes. The door pops open under his weight and Harry trips inside. “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Louis’s voice filters out from the ensuite, sounding shaky and unsure. “Um. Just- fuck, just a second. _Fuck_.”

Harry falters, considering actually giving Louis the second he requested, but his feet make up his mind for him when he hears Louis hiss like he’s in pain. He braces himself before he steps into the bathroom, the color draining from his face at what he sees.

“Fuck, shit,” Louis mutters, turning his face away like Harry won’t see the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I’m sorry- fuck.”

There’s glass everywhere. It seems as though the massive mirror that once hung above their porcelain sink has fallen, though the metal frame is still on the wall. Louis’s standing stock still in the middle of the mess in bare feet, his ankle bleeding where some glass probably got him on the way down. Harry can’t speak for a moment, until he sees Louis’s phone in the middle of the wreckage, lying shattered on the floor beneath a couple shards of glass.

“What happened?” Harry asks, voice gentle. Louis’s shaking, his entire body trembling, and he still won’t look up. “Louis, love, what-”

“I-” Louis hiccups, wiping angrily at his face. “I don’t know, I was- I’m sorry,” he whimpers, shoulders curling in as he starts to cry.

“It’s okay,” Harry says quickly, his heart breaking right in two. Louis hardly ever cries, but when he does, Harry will do just about anything to make it stop. He can’t even get to Louis right now, though, physically, the shards of glass keeping Louis where he is and Harry in the doorway. “It’s alright, Lou. Hang on just a second, okay? Don’t move. I’m gonna get some shoes and come get you,” he says, waiting to see Louis nod before he spins on his heel and runs to the closet. He finds a pair of boots and throws them on, quickly but carefully stepping over the glass until he’s in front of Louis, wincing at the glass crunching into the tile floor.

“You’re okay,” Harry breathes, tugging Louis into his arms, holding him against his chest. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I-” Louis just shakes his head and sobs, pressing his face hard against Harry’s shoulder. “I-”

“Okay, that’s alright, breathe,” Harry hums, rubbing Louis’s back gently. “Let’s get you out of here, and we’ll worry about this later. I’m gonna pick you up, okay?”

Louis doesn’t say anything, so Harry takes it as a go ahead. He shifts to Louis’s side and sweeps him up very, very carefully, holding him bridal style as he crunches back over the glass and into the bedroom.

He sets Louis down safely on the hardwood floor and kicks the boots off, leaving them right outside the bathroom so he doesn’t track broken glass all over the house. Louis turns away from him and covers his face with his arm, but Harry can see him trembling under his massive sweatshirt.

“Shh,” Harry soothes, stepping up behind him and pulling him into his arms. “You’re alright. I’m here.”

“My ankle,” Louis whimpers, wiping at his face with his sleeve bunched into his fist. “My ankle hurts.”

“It’s bleeding,” Harry says, pulling away. “Not badly, just a little. Why don’t we go to the other bathroom and clean it up?”

Louis nods, so Harry takes his hand, bringing him down the hall to the spare bathroom. There’s a first aid kit under the sink, and Harry settles Louis on the closed toilet seat before he retrieves it.

“I didn’t mean to break the mirror,” Louis says, eyes locked on Harry’s face so he doesn’t have to see his own blood. He winces when Harry wipes it clean, reaching for Harry’s shoulder and digging his fingertips in. “I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking-”

“I know,” Harry assures, giving him a patient smile. “I know you didn’t mean it. It’s alright.”

“I’ll get it fixed,” Louis says, accompanied by a fresh wave of tears, apparently brought on by Harry’s gentle tone. “I’ll call someone in the morning and I’ll pay for it and-”

“Hey,” Harry hums, leaning up to catch Louis’s lips with his own. “It’s okay. Don’t think about it. Be here with me right now,” he says, keeping his eyes locked with Louis’s until Louis nods.

“Is that some yoga crap?” Louis chuckles, wiping at his face again. “Are you tricking me into meditating right now?”

“Is it working?” Harry grins, glancing up at him as he wraps the bandage around Louis’s ankle. The cut isn’t terribly big, but it’s big enough that none of the bandaids they have will fit all the way over it, so he’s just gone for some gauze and a bit of medical tape. 

“Can’t tell, think it might just be you,” Louis says, tugging Harry up from his knees once the bandage is secure. “Keep hugging me, I think that’s all the meditation I need.”

Harry huffs a laugh and holds him, bent awkwardly over him on the toilet. He shifts his weight a little and Louis follows him, until they’re sitting on the soft bath mat in front of the tub, Harry’s back against the wall with Louis curled like a kitten in his lap. They stay like that until Louis stops crying completely, Harry’s fingers petting the hair at the back of his head the whole time.

“Nice to see you, by the way,” Louis mumbles, pulling away and rubbing at his swollen eyes. “Sorry for the shittiest welcome home ever.”

“Nothing’s shitty when I get to see you,” Harry says immediately, honestly. Louis looks like he wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t, nuzzling into Harry’s neck again.

“Still sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s still okay,” Harry says. “Do you want to tell me what the hell happened, though?”

“I was tidying up a bit- odd, I know, but I wanted things to look nice when you got here- and PR called, so I was talking and tidying at the same time. They were telling me about the stunts coming up in the next few months and- Harry, it’s bad,” he sighs, pressing his face into Harry’s clavicle so hard Harry chokes a little. “They’re- well, we can talk about that later, I suppose. They were telling me everything they’ve set up and all the hoops I’ll have to jump through and I kinda lost it, started a screaming match with them, which is pretty par for the course. And I was still in the bathroom when I hung up because I was pacing and I caught sight of myself in the mirror and I just- I got so angry and I was looking at my reflection thinking, what is it about me that makes them want to break me so much and- I threw my phone, I guess, out of anger, and I wasn’t thinking at all and I threw it directly at the mirror- I’m such a dumbass-”

Harry hugs him tight, so suddenly that Louis cuts off with a little gasp. He melts into the embrace, going soft in Harry’s lap, until Harry can feel his pulse slow where he’s got his hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

“You’re not a dumbass,” Harry says, lips pressed to Louis’s temple. “You’re human.”

“Am I?” Louis mutters. Harry should probably read into that, should probably hold Louis’s face and tell him that yes, he is a fucking human, and even though he’s being treated like a show horse, he’s more worthy of love and respect than anyone Harry’s ever met.

“Are you hungry?” Harry says instead. “I’m gonna change, then I was thinking I could make some soup and we can watch a film downstairs.”

“Sounds lovely,” Louis says, worming his arms out from where they’re trapped between his chest and Harry’s and wrapping them around Harry’s torso. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Harry hums, kissing his forehead softly. 

They get up slowly, a gangly tangle of limbs somewhat tingly from sitting on the floor so long. Louis looks unsure of what to do, lost in the middle of their guest bathroom, but Harry doesn’t hug him again or give him something to do, like he wants to. He shuffles down the hall to the bedroom to get changed instead, hearing Louis thump down the stairs just a second later.

He finds Louis in the kitchen when he finally makes his way down, snooping through the pantry.

“What kind of soup are you hungry for?” he asks. “And what have we got?”

“Dunno, I can’t bloody find it,” Louis grumbles, looking irritated when he turns around. “Where the hell do we keep soup in this house?”

“Just here,” Harry says, pointing just to the left of the shelf Louis was searching. Louis goes red, and Harry giggles.

“I’m losing my mind, Harry,” he sighs, dropping his forehead against the center of Harry’s chest. “They’re killing me.”

“Who is?” Harry hums distractedly, petting at Louis’s hair while he reads the labels on the various cans of soup in the pantry.

“The whole world,” Louis says, voice muffled into Harry’s soft jumper. “My management, specifically.”

Harry chooses to carefully ignore that. He feels guilty that he and Louis aren’t under the same management and therefore the same rules anymore, and he feels horrible that while his bonds have loosened, Louis’s have only gotten tighter. It’s something he doesn’t like to think or talk about, so, as usual, he leaves it hanging there in the air, with all the other things they don’t touch.

“We’ve got Campbell’s tomato, meatball, or broccoli cheese,” he says. “Or I could make some chicken noodle from scratch, and I think we’ve got makings for hot and sour, or we could get something on Postmates,” he says, looking down at Louis’s face.

“Think I should boycott Campbell’s Soup,” Louis says, twisting his mouth into a scowl. “Do you think I should tweet something about hating Campbell’s Soup? Do you think the fans would catch on?”

“Leave Campbell’s Soup out of it,” Harry chuckles. “Knowing the media, they’ll take it less as you slagging off your ex girlfriend and more as you hating on a company that’s been openly supportive of the LGBT community.”

Louis _mphs_ in response, pushing past Harry gently and out of the pantry. “Well, in that case, I’d like the Campbell’s broccoli cheese, please,” he hums.

Harry hums his affirmation and grabs the can, flicking off the light in the pantry and kicking the door closed. “Please grab me a pot and turn the stove top on, love?”

Louis does so quietly while Harry pries the can open, and then holds the pot steady while Harry pours in the condensed soup and the water. Harry kisses his cheek in gratitude and Louis shuffles into his arms again, laying his head against his chest.

“Awfully cuddly today,” Harry comments, resting his chin on Louis’s head.

“I’m so upset, Harry,” Louis breathes, rubbing his face against Harry’s jumper like he’s trying to distract himself. “I feel like the world is just gonna end any minute.”

Harry pouts, hugging Louis tight. “You can do this,” he says, but he doesn’t even know really what it is Louis has to do, and he’s not too keen on finding out.

“I don’t think I can,” Louis breathes.

“Why don’t you go pick out a film?” Harry says, because avoidance is the best technique, in his experience, to make Louis forget about something. “Pick something cozy, please.”

Louis nods, pressing a little kiss to Harry’s sternum and then disappearing to the living room. Harry hears the telly turn on a moment later, and congratulates himself on the successful distraction.

He warms up some of the fancy bread they keep in the freezer and readies two bowls and spoons, and once everything is finished he brings it out to the living room on a tray, joining Louis under the cozy throw he’s spread out over the sofa and placing the tray down on both of their laps.

“I’ll need a new phone, I guess,” Louis mutters, pressing play on the film and then tearing off a piece of bread to dip in his soup. “They’ll probably ring you once they figure out they can’t get a hold of me.”

Harry just nods, dipping a piece of bread into his own soup and biting into it. The bread could be warmer but the soup is quite good, and when Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and cuddles in close, Harry can’t imagine a nicer way to spend his time.

They make it through about half of the film before Louis brings it up again. They’ve finished their food and moved the tray to the coffee table, and now they’re stretched out with Harry’s head resting on Louis’s tummy, lengthwise across the sofa.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Louis sighs, running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Things are about to get so much harder.”

“Stop thinking about it,” Harry whispers, mouthing against Louis’s stomach for a moment because he knows it’ll tickle. Louis giggles and kicks his leg out, and Harry smiles up at him. 

“ _Just be here with me_ ,” Louis mocks his voice, smirking down at him. “Got it, curly.”

Harry grins and puts his head back down, curling his hand around the outside of Louis’s thigh. They stay like that for a good bit, until the film is nearly over, and Harry’s phone starts ringing loudly from his bag where he left it by the door.

Louis groans, but Harry forces himself to remain optimistic. “You don’t know it’s them,” he says, scrambling off of the sofa and jogging over to get his phone. He doesn’t recognize the number, and he winces a little as he answers.

“Hello?”

“Harry,” says a voice he doesn’t know, “are you with Louis?”

“Um, yes,” Harry says, pursing his lips apologetically in Louis’s direction. Louis rolls his eyes, flopping back down on the sofa.

“Good, I hoped so. Is he alright? We can’t get through to his phone,” the woman says.

“Um, yeah, he’s okay,” Harry lies. Louis looks like death, all the color gone from his face. “He broke his phone, though, um. Yeah.”

“Can I speak with him, please?” the woman asks. “We have a bit more negotiating to do before the end of the week.”

“It’s for you,” Harry says, sitting back down on the sofa and handing the phone over gingerly. Louis snatches it out of his hand, jaw set, breathes deeply as he holds it to his ear.

“What?”

Harry winces at the harshness of his tone, keeping his eyes down as he pauses the film. Louis sighs and pushes up off of the sofa, pacing around the room. Harry stares resolutely at the carpet, blinking fast. He hates when Louis argues on the phone, especially when he’s in the room. It makes him feel so inexplicably guilty.

“I just don’t understand why it has to be so soon,” Louis spits. “With all the shit that’s been going on, I don’t think people would blink if I was MIA for just a little-”

The PR woman must cut him off, because Louis’s fist clenches at his side. Harry doesn’t want to look at his face, but he’d bet anything it’s dark and stormy.

“This is ridiculous, though!” Louis shouts. “Why can’t I just be single for a while?” Harry flinches, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice. “And why does it have to be her? Why can’t we just do one stunt at a time and not keep doing the same fucking bullshit over and over again?”

Harry can hear the woman on the phone shouting back at him, his stomach twisting in disgust at how unprofessional it is. Sure, Louis shouted first, but she has no right to shout back at him.

“Fuck my image!” Louis exclaims, huffing a bitter laugh. “Fuck it! I fucking hate it! I don’t want it! I don’t wanna be Louis Party Boy Tomlinson who knocks up drunk girls in clubs and can’t be single for more than a month! Fuck that!”

Harry digs his nails into his palm, wishing silently for the phone call to end and for Louis to calm down. He wants it all to end, if he’s honest, all the stunts and the PR phone calls and the bullshit in general.

“Fucking fine, then,” Louis growls. “I don’t fucking care, this all fucking stupid. Email me the fucking timeline or whatever and I’ll read it over and I’ll keep being your little puppet, happy? Fuck you. Don’t call me again tonight,” he says venomously, hanging up the phone and winding up like he wants to throw it. He stops himself, though, probably because it’s not his phone. He’s shaking when Harry looks up, his whole body trembling like he was in the bathroom when Harry got here. Harry stands up slowly, so as not to spook him, but Louis startles anyway.

“Fuck!” he screams, dropping Harry’s phone on the rug and fisting his hair. “Fuck! Harry, _fuck_!”

“Louis, calm down, please-”

Louis covers his ears and screams, just screams until Harry has backed all the way away from him. He’s never seen Louis quite this angry before, and it’s terrifying.

He screams until his voice breaks on a sob, and when he pulls his hands out of his hair, more than a few strands come with his fingers. He looks rabid, crazed, like he’s going to either explode like a grenade or just shatter like the bathroom mirror.

“Louis,” Harry tries again, tears starting in his eyes, but Louis just sobs again, shaking his head. He takes off before Harry can stop him, bolting up the stairs and into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry stands frozen to the floor for a long few minutes, his hands trembling. He can hear Louis having an absolute fit upstairs, yelling and throwing things around. Harry doesn’t move until the noise quiets, and an eerie silence settles over the house.

He drags himself to the kitchen, breathing deep to get himself under control, and searches the fridge. Louis’s had a couple breakdowns before over the years. Nothing quite like this, but caused by similar situations. Harry supposes there’s never been a situation quite like this; Louis still hasn’t had time to grieve his mum, and they’ve been running him into the ground for months, and Harry couldn’t get the whole story over the phone, but it sounds like they’re regressing instead of progressing toward the finish line.

He does the only thing he knows how to do that usually makes Louis feel better: makes cookies. Usually, when Louis’s having a meltdown, Harry will wait for him to tire himself out and then come after him with some warm chocolate chip cookies, and they’ll have a cuddle and soon enough everything is fine again. He doesn’t know if it’ll work this time, but he’s hoping for the best.

Louis’s been quiet for almost half an hour before Harry makes his way up the stairs with a plate full of cookies, but it’s not hard for Harry to guess what he’s doing. He can smell the smoke from all the way down the hall, and though he hates when Louis smokes inside, he supposes it’s better than him putting his head through a wall.

He knocks gently on the door before he pushes it open, finding Louis sprawled on the bed in a cloud of smoke. There are at least ten cigarettes in the ashtray on the bedside table, and Harry can’t help but click his tongue disapprovingly.

“Baby,” he says softly, “what have I told you about smoking inside?”

“I want to fucking die, Harry,” Louis says, voice clear and strong, as way of explanation.

Harry’s heart sinks, and he frowns deeply. He makes his way to his side of the bed and sits down, planning on offering up the cookies, but then Louis starts talking.

“They’re bringing Eleanor back soon,” he says lowly. Harry swears he can feel sick rising in his throat, fingers tightening on the plate of cookies. “What fucking year is it again? Fucking bullshit. I’m gonna be doing pap walks in the next few months with Eleanor and Freddie, can you fucking believe it? It feels like I’m in my own personal hell, Harry, and I have no idea how to get out of it,” he says voice breaking a bit at the end. He scrubs his free hand down his face and then takes one last drag of the cigarette in his other hand, snubbing it out in the ashtray lazily.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers. “Fuck, Louis, I’m so sorry.”

Louis just shakes his head, finally glancing over Harry. “What’ve you got there?” he says, sitting up a little and eyeing the plate in Harry’s hands. 

“Chocolate chip cookies,” Harry says, holding them out in offering. “There’s some ice cream in the fridge, as well, and I’ll go get you some milk if you want?”

Louis takes a cookie silently, folding his legs in front of himself and staring down for a long moment. “Can we talk about this, please?” he asks, looking up at Harry helplessly.

“Eat,” Harry says. “We’ve got all the time in the world to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” Louis says sharply. “Can we please talk about this? I’m losing my mind.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Harry says, putting the plate down on the bed and picking up a cookie, splitting it in half. “I love you, and you love me. That’s all that matters. That’s why we’re doing this.”

“Why don’t you fucking look at me when you say shit like that?” Louis says. His tone isn’t accusing, just curious, but it makes Harry flinch all the same. 

“I don’t know,” Harry murmurs, voice so quiet his own ears hardly catch it. “I don’t know how.”

“Fucking look at me,” Louis says, biting this time. Harry does, and he aches when he sees the tears building in Louis’s eyes, one dripping down his cheek. “Tell me we’re gonna get through this.”

Harry looks down again, can’t help it. “We always do.”

Louis sobs, dropping his cookie back on the plate and curling up, face buried in his knees. Harry feels a tear drip down his own cheek and he moves the plate to the bedside table, feeling sick to his stomach as he touches Louis’s back, prompting him to uncurl.

He kisses him long and sweet, until Louis doesn’t have the breath left to cry. He holds his cheeks when he pulls away, wiping at the tears that are still falling. Forcing himself to hold eye contact, he gets as close to Louis as he can without going cross eyed and says, with all the honesty he can muster, “it’ll be alright.”

It seems to be all Louis needs to hear, and then they’re curled up together again in the center of the bed, both of them still weeping quietly. It hurts like hell, and the next few months are really going to suck, but Harry wasn’t lying; it’ll be alright.

They don’t speak much for the rest of the evening, and they don’t need to. They take turns showering in the guest bathroom and then curl up together under the blankets in their bed, eating the cookies that have gone cold by now and pressing tiny kisses to all the exposed bits of each other they can reach. They’ll talk about it eventually; they’ll have to, or they’ll both disintegrate. For now, though, it’s not a conversation either of them wants to have, despite how much Louis tries to have it. 

This is how they operate, how they’ve always operated. Things get hard, and they have their bad moments, and this is one of them. But they’ll love each other through it and it’ll get better, they’ll be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	3. carolina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’s a girl in a red sundress that’s just come in the door, with long, dark hair and tall, black heels. She looks like someone Louis would pretend to date, Harry thinks bitterly._

Drinking, unsurprisingly, was Harry’s idea. They’ve hit a bit of a wall in terms of creativity, and instead of staying at the house and getting even more tired and bored and frustrated, as they’ve been doing the past few days, Harry thinks it’ll be good to get out, have some fun, and hopefully find some inspiration in the bottom of one of too many shot glasses.

They’re in Jamaica, after all, which is arguably one of the most beautiful places on Earth. They’ve been getting some really great writing done, which has been absolutely amazing, but as they near the end of the process, they’re all getting a bit tired of it. If Louis was here, Harry knows he’d be able to finish a hundred more songs with his help. Unfortunately, as far as Harry’s concerned at the moment, he wanted this album to be about himself, so he banned Louis from sharing any of his genius lyric ideas.

Harry misses him a good bit, he thinks, settling into his barstool and chugging the bottle of beer he’s just been served. Louis’s in LA, doing promo and writing, as well, while Harry’s here in paradise with all of these people he’s really starting to love. He knows it would be more fun if Louis was here, because he knows everyone would love him so, so much, but part of doing separate things as a band includes doing separate things as a couple, and they’re really taking advantage of that right now.

So they’re out, enjoying the Jamaican nightlife. Harry hasn’t a clue where his bandmates are; they scattered as soon as they got to the bar, eager to spend as much time apart for the next few hours as they can manage. Harry’s quite excited to talk to some locals, or some fellow tourists, or really just anyone who’ll indulge him.

He turns on his stool and surveys the rest of the bar, gripping his bottle in a loose fist. He can see Claire and Sarah dancing in the corner by themselves, even though this really isn’t a dancey sort of place. He chuckles softly at them, watching for just a moment, before a flash of red catches his eye.

There’s a girl in a red sundress that’s just come in the door, with long, dark hair and tall, black heels. She looks like someone Louis would pretend to date, Harry thinks bitterly. He watches her without meaning to until she catches his eye, and they both blush and turn away.

Harry turns back to face the bar and takes another long sip of his beer, ordering another once the bartender is close enough that he won’t have to yell to him. His next drink arrives just as someone slides onto the stool next to him, and Harry turns to see the girl in the red sundress adjusting her purse in her lap and ordering a drink.

“I like your nail color,” Harry tells her, because he does. It’s baby blue, like a robin’s egg. It’s lovely.

“Thank you,” the girl says, like she’s shocked he spoke to her. “You look super familiar.”

“Do I?” Harry smirks, cocking an eyebrow as he takes another sip of beer.

“Yeah,” the girl says curiously. “My name’s Townes. Has anyone ever told you that you look a little like Harry Styles?”

“Nice to meet you, Townes,” Harry says, holding his hand out for her to shake. “My name’s Harry.”

Townes’s jaw drops, her eyes widening a little. “No,” she says, wiping the shock off her face and replacing it with doubt. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” Harry shrugs, still smirking to himself as he turns away, raising his bottle to his lips again.

“Shut up!” Townes says again, slapping his arm lightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just slapped Harry Styles. Oh my god.”

Harry can’t help but laugh, turning to face her again. Townes hides her face, but Harry can tell she’s grinning.

“What brings you to Jamaica?” he asks, mostly because she still looks flustered and Harry wants her to be comfortable.

“Vacation, mostly,” Townes says. “I’m with some friends. It’s my friend’s birthday, so, we came here. I’m here for another week,” she says, and Harry ignores the bit of hope in her tone, like she thinks he’ll care how long she’s here for.

“Lovely,” he smiles. “How old is she turning?”

“Twenty two,” Townes says. “Don’t worry, we’re of age,” she giggles, but she blushes as well, like maybe she’s being a bit more forward than she means to be. 

“Good to hear,” Harry chuckles, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to his drink.

“What brings you here?” Townes asks. She leans a little closer, like she can’t hear him. Harry backs away a little.

“Work,” he shrugs. “Writing some stuff here in the sun. It’s a good place to get away.”

“That’s amazing,” Townes sighs. “I wish my work brought me to Jamaica.”

“It has its ups and downs,” Harry admits. “Don’t sell my location to the tabloids, please. That’s an example of the downs,” he says.

“No worries, your secret is safe with me,” Townes says, zipping her lips and handing him the pretend key. Harry grins and opens his hand to accept it, tossing it over his shoulder.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, then, because the bartender returns to hand Townes her mixed drink and Harry pulls out his phone to make sure no one’s trying to find him. Suddenly Townes wobbles on her stool and Harry reaches out to catch her before she falls over, grabbing her arm and steadying her.

“Careful, love,” he mumbles, making sure she’s steady before he lets go. “You’ve not even started drinking yet.”

“Sorry,” Townes gushes, her cheeks heating quickly. “Oh my god. I was trying to be smooth and get closer without you noticing, and I just about fell over in your lap.”

Harry can’t help but laugh, almost endeared by the way Townes shakes her head and takes a long sip of her drink. “That’s one way to make a move, I suppose.”

“A terrible way,” Townes agrees. “So, like, tell me about yourself. I’ll admit, I was never super into One Direction, but I do think you’re really cool. What’s it like to be Harry Styles? Do you have girls falling on you in bars often?”

“Not literally, usually” Harry giggles, shrugging one shoulder. “Dunno. It’s kinda fun. I like being able to be whoever I want and having people think I’m cool for it. Quite fun,” he says.

“It sounds fun,” Townes says. “But I bet it gets tiring, right?”

“It does,” Harry says. “I’ve had a nice break, though, since the band took a break, and I’m ready to start doing my own stuff. What about you, what do you do?” he asks, wanting to shift the attention away from himself. 

“I just graduated from college,” Townes says. “I’m still looking for a job, which isn’t exactly easy right now, you know? I have a degree in communications, so, like, I have a lot of options, it’s just a matter of finding someone to hire me,” she says. “Plus, I’m from this, like, _super_ small town in North Carolina, so it’s really hard to find a job that I won’t have to move to take. My grandma keeps telling me I should just go for it, get away from my family and start my own life, but I think she’s forgetting that it isn’t 1950 anymore, and that’s not so easy,” she shrugs.

“I think she’s right,” Harry says. “You’ve got to take risks, otherwise you’ll be in that town your whole life.”

“Ugh, you sound just like her,” Townes rolls her eyes. “There’s this one job in California, fucking _California_ , and it’s really good but it’s so far away. I don’t think I could make it there, you know? I’m definitely not a west coaster,” she says.

“I never saw myself a west coaster, either,” Harry says. “But look at me. I live there, like, most of the time now.”

“Yeah, but you’re-” Townes waves her hand, like he knows what she means. He doesn’t. 

They spend the rest of the night talking, and drinking, and even dancing when Claire and Sarah finally start a trend. Harry meets all of Townes’s friends and takes photos with them and asks them kindly not to post them, wishes the birthday girl a happy birthday and then, once it’s late enough to call it a night, tries valiantly to make his exit.

“Where are you staying?” Townes asks, too close to his side and talking too close to his ear. “Maybe I could come back with you? I really like spending time with you,” she says innocently.

“I shouldn’t,” Harry says gently. “I’m pretty busy with work, and, yeah. It’s kind of a secret location, the band would kill me if I brought someone home,” he lies.

“We could convince them,” Townes pouts, putting her hand on his stomach. His skin jumps uncomfortably.

“I doubt that,” he chuckles awkwardly. “It was really lovely meeting you, though. You said you’re here for another week, right? Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

Harry’s sure he’s not leaving the house again for another week, just to make sure he doesn’t run into her again.

“Yeah, I guess,” Townes sighs, giving up. “It was really nice meeting you. Write a song about me,” she winks, finally turning away to rejoin her friend, her red sundress disappearing into the crowd. 

Harry thinks about those words all the way outside, replaying their conversation in his head. He could write a song about her, probably, something catchy and upbeat and cool. It might be just the thing the album is missing.

He gets in a cab and texts the others that he’s leaving, and he’ll see them in the morning. He goes straight to his room when he gets back to the house, grabbing his notebook and a pen and sitting on the ledge of the window to start writing.

All in all, the song takes an hour to write. He’s a little unsure of the name drop and maybe some of the lyrics, as well, and even though he really wants this album to be something he did himself, there’s only one opinion he wants.

Louis answers on the third ring, but he doesn’t say anything right away. There’s a lot of noise at his end, like maybe he’s out, but then Harry hears a door close and the sound is muffled. “Hazza!” Louis cheers, a little bit drunk. It’s quite late in Jamaica, but it’s only evening in LA.

“Hi, love,” Harry grins, Louis’s voice washing over him and releasing all the tension Harry didn’t realize was in his shoulders. “What are you up to?”

“At Steve’s house,” Louis says. “He’s having a bit of a thing, you know, lots of people. His house is so sick, babe, you’ve got to come with me sometime when we’re both here.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry hums, “I miss you. A lot.”

“Oh, enough of that,” Louis tuts. “You’re in paradise having the time of your life, aren’t you? Have you met any girls that are prettier than me?”

“No one’s prettier than you,” Harry says immediately. “But um, actually, I did meet a girl tonight.”

“Oh?” Louis says, and just like that, the playful tone is gone. He knows that Louis knows Harry would never do anything with anyone that wasn’t him, but he still gets quite jealous.

“Yeah,” Harry says, smiling. “She’s quite cool. She reminds me of you, a bit. I just came back to the house and wrote a whole song about her, but halfway through it turned into a song about you,” he admits. 

“I like the sound of that,” Louis giggles, clearly at ease again. “Sing it for me.”

“Okay,” Harry says, getting inexplicably shy. He’s not afraid of Louis’s judgement, or anyone’s for that matter, and he’s sung on stages in front of thousands, even millions of people, but he still gets nervous when Louis asks him to sing for him.

“She’s got a family in Carolina, so far away but she says I remind her of home, feeling oh so far from home…” he sings the whole song, voice quiet and unsure on some notes, stopping every now and again to make a note or change little things. Louis stays silent until Harry’s done, finishing with an awkward little cough and a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s it. What do you think?”

“It’s great,” Louis says, “really great. You said it was mostly about me, right?”

“Mostly, yeah,” Harry says. “Ostensibly about her, but like, if she was you,” he shrugs.

“So I’m a good girl, then?” Louis says, the smirk loud and clear in his voice. 

Harry can’t help but laugh, throwing his head back against the window and shaking his head. “The best girl, Lou.”

“Good to know,” Louis hums, giggling quietly, innocently. Harry’s dick takes interest. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I see you in the bedroom.”

“Louis,” Harry whines, but he’s still smiling. “Don’t tease. You’ve still never worn those panties I bought you for your last birthday.”

“Oh, I’ve worn them,” Louis says. “Just not for you. Yet.”

“Louis,” Harry whines again, shifting on the ledge.

“I miss you,” Louis says, still giggling, but more serious than before. “A lot, Haz. I love you.”

“I miss you too,” Harry says, closing his eyes and smiling softly. “And I love you more.”

“Impossible,” Louis says immediately. “What time is it there? You should get to bed,” he says.

“Almost one,” Harry says, realizing how tired he actually is. “Yeah, I should go. Go have fun with your friends, text me in the morning,” he says, peeling himself off the window ledge and over to the bed.

“Alright, goodnight, baby,” Louis says. “Love you.”

“You said that already,” Harry grins.

“Want me to say it again? I love you. One more time? Alright, if you insist. I love you, Harry Edward Styles, I love you more than anything in the world.”

Harry giggles, kicking off his jeans and plopping down on the bed. “One more time?”

“I love you,” Louis says again, immediately. “I love you, and, guess what?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Harry laughs, basking in the warmth that even just Louis’s voice brings him. “I love you too, Louis. Goodnight.”

Harry hangs up first, just because he knows Louis will go on for another twenty minutes if Harry lets him. He’s disgustingly affectionate when he’s drunk, and it’s even worse when Harry’s not there for him to hang all over and snog to death.

He sheds his shirt and tucks himself up into bed, singing his new song over and over in his mind until he passes out. Yes, he thinks, this song is exactly the finishing touch that the album needed, and tomorrow they’ll work out the chords and the sound and record it and it’ll be great, and then Harry can go home to his baby and they can admit that while the time apart is doing wonders for their solo careers, the only thing that makes it worth the while is coming home to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	4. two ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s moments like these when it really hits Harry how much they’ve grown. Louis is hardly the boy Harry fell in love with; he’s got actual wrinkles by his eyes where they used to crinkle when he smiled, and his face is thin and sunken and his eyes have bags under them, not like they did when they were younger and sleep deprived on tour, but like they belong there, like they’re always gonna be there. He’s got facial hair, not a lot of it, but it’s dark and looks prickly where it used to be soft and fuzzy, where Harry would mouth at his cheek and feel the tickle of soft stubble. He thinks if he mouthed at Louis’s cheek now it might cut him, but he knows he would love the sting._

After Jamaica comes a few weeks at home with his family, which is absolutely lovely. The album is finished, finally, and Harry can’t wait to show it to everyone he knows, starting with his mum and Robin, and then Gemma, and then Nick. He wants to wait for Louis to hear it until they’re together again, because Louis is the person he’s the most excited to show it to, and he knows Louis will be the most proud of him.

Louis is still in LA, doing day after day of promo for his first single and making Harry prouder by the minute. He’s so strong, Harry can hardly believe he’s real sometimes.

The time at home is lovely, but it only serves to make him more and more antsy to see Louis. Everyone loves his album, which is amazing, but Harry just can’t wait to get to LA.

The plane ride is bordering on excruciating, but Harry’s always been good at napping, so the time doesn’t drag quite as much as it would normally. He wakes up just before the plane touches down, and he’s already about vibrating with anticipation.

His birthday is tomorrow, and it’ll be the first time he’s seen Louis in weeks. Louis is spending the night tonight at his public house so he can have the whole day tomorrow to be MIA with Harry. The fans will obviously pick up on the fact that Harry’s birthday is the only day Louis isn’t doing promo, but at this point, they hardly even care.

He gets to the house late, makes himself some dinner with whatever he can find in the fridge, and then passes out on the sofa. He means to go to bed, he really does, but the eight hours time difference between here and England has him absolutely exhausted and he really can’t find it within himself to get up and drag himself up the stairs.

He wakes up early in the morning, too early, so early that it’s only just barely gone light outside and the birds haven’t even begun singing yet. He’s resigned to roll over on the sofa and go back to sleep, his spine be damned, but just as he’s snuggling back into the throw cushion he’s resting on, he hears the quiet jingling of keys and then the quiet chime that the alarm system makes when the front door is opening.

He sits up quickly, rubbing at his face, trying to wake himself up to fight off the intruder. He’s still mostly asleep as he staggers off the sofa and turns around, meeting Louis’s eyes where he’s just come in the door.

Louis looks spooked, about as spooked as Harry feels, but a smile spreads slowly across his face. “Hazza, baby, why are you sleeping on the sofa?”

“It’s-” Harry frowns, looking down at the sofa and then back up at Louis. “It’s not that nice to sleep on.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Louis chuckles, dropping his keys into the bowl on the table by the door and then kicking his shoes off, shuffling over to wrap an arm around Harry. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed. It’s early.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, letting Louis guide him up the stairs and into the bedroom. He also lets Louis strip him out of his jeans and his t-shirt, and then tuck him into bed. “Snuggle?” he mumbles, reaching up for Louis.

“Snuggle,” Louis confirms, ridding himself of his own clothing quickly and climbing into bed beside Harry. “Go back to sleep, love. I’ve got you.”

“Got you,” Harry breathes in return, nuzzling his face into Louis’s shoulder and drifting off again.

-

The next time he wakes up, he’s alone in the bed and it’s still early, but it’s late enough in the morning that he feels like it’s acceptable to get out of bed. He wonders if he dreamt that Louis came home or if that was actually real life, but he can’t imagine a single scenario in which Louis would ever be awake at that hour.

Alas, when he lumbers downstairs and into the kitchen, he finds Louis stooped over the stove, looking sleep rumpled and beautiful. He stops in the doorway and just stares, and when Louis notices him there he does the same. They spend far too long just watching each other, from opposite ends of the room, like they’re both afraid to blink lest the other vanish into thin air like this is all just a fantasy.

It’s moments like these when it really hits Harry how much they’ve grown. Louis is hardly the boy Harry fell in love with; he’s got actual wrinkles by his eyes where they used to crinkle when he smiled, and his face is thin and sunken and his eyes have bags under them, not like they did when they were younger and sleep deprived on tour, but like they belong there, like they’re always gonna be there. He’s got facial hair, not a lot of it, but it’s dark and looks prickly where it used to be soft and fuzzy, where Harry would mouth at his cheek and feel the tickle of soft stubble. He thinks if he mouthed at Louis’s cheek now it might cut him, but he knows he would love the sting.

Harry takes a step toward him, this man that is somehow still the boy Harry fell in love with, and opens his arms. Louis hesitates and then turns fully toward him, taking three long strides and colliding with Harry’s chest, letting Harry hug him close.

They take a few moments to just breathe, overwhelmed and full of emotion. Harry buries his face in Louis’s hair, still as soft and fine as it’s always been, somehow, and grins.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Louis mumbles into his chest, smoothing his hands down Harry’s back to rest at the bottom of his spine. “Happy, happy birthday, Harry.”

“I missed you so much,” Harry breathes out, hugging Louis impossibly closer. They don’t talk for another few moments, just enjoying the physical contact they’ve been craving quietly for weeks, until something starts sizzling on the stove and Louis finally pulls away to go check on it.

“I’m making pancakes,” Louis says, smiling over his shoulder at him. “I’m getting better at it.”

“Yay,” Harry grins sleepily, shuffling over to wrap himself around Louis’s back, watching him work from over his shoulder. “Did you actually get here around four this morning, or did I dream that?”

“No, I did,” Louis says. “I couldn’t sleep, was too excited to see you,” he hums. “Why were you asleep on the sofa?”

“Was too tired to go to bed,” Harry shrugs. “These pancakes smell good.”

“I told you I’m getting better,” Louis laughs, turning his head to plant a kiss on Harry’s cheek. “Go sit, they’re almost ready.”

“Can we eat outside?” Harry asks. “It’s nice out. And I want you to listen to the album.”

“I thought you’d never bring it up,” Louis says, wriggling out of Harry’s arms and putting the pancakes on a plate. “Take these outside, I’ll be out in a second with some tea and syrup.”

Harry follows his orders quietly, pushing the back door open and setting the plate of pancakes down on the table by the pool. It’s still too early to be terribly warm, but it’s lovely out. It’s February, but it’s LA, so it’s still warm and sunny and Harry’s quite comfortable in just his pants.

Louis comes outside hardly a moment later with two cups of tea, a bottle of syrup, and more plates and silverware. Harry forces Louis to let him cuddle into his side and then reaches for his phone, playing the first song on his album without a word. 

He’s nervous, of course, but Louis stays silent, lets him play the whole thing while they eat their breakfast. Harry’s proud of the music, more proud of it than he thinks he’s ever been of anything in his life, but he’s still just a little bit anxious that Louis won’t like it.

He plays all ten songs, lets Louis listen to all of them without a comment, and by the time the last song is over, the pancakes are gone and they’re just lounging in their chairs, cuddled up in the sunshine that’s getting warmer by the minute.

“That’s all?” Louis asks, once the last song ends, when Harry looks up at him. Harry’s heart is rabbiting in his chest, and he wonders if Louis can tell.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s all.”

“Harry,” Louis says, pushes him so he’s sitting up, and then leans in to kiss him hard. Harry squeaks in surprise but Louis doesn’t let him pull away, kisses him until he’s completely out of breath, and then some.

“You liked it, then?” Harry gasps when they finally part, trying to catch his breath.

“I love it,” Louis says, grinning at Harry like he hung the sun in the sky. “Fuck, I love it. I love you.”

Harry grins back at him, all the tension seeping out of his body. Something in his eyes must give away what he wants because then Louis’s kissing him again, so hard it almost sends his chair tipping over backwards.

They stop eventually, until they’re just sitting there, watching each other quietly. Louis’s watching Harry like he’s the best thing Louis has ever seen, and Harry’s watching Louis like he wants to swallow him whole.

They should be talking, probably. They should catch up, tell each other all about the things they’ve been doing. Harry should play every song on the album again and make Louis tell him exactly what he thinks of each one, and Louis should be telling Harry every funny or annoying or outrageous moment from all of the promo he’s been doing, but they just sit. Harry’s gonna be busy with finalizing all the album stuff and working on the tour stuff tomorrow and Louis’s gonna be going back to promo and endless interviews and whatnot, but with this precious time, all that either of them can think to do is watch each other, memorize every little piece of the other that’s changed since the last time they were together.

The thing is, though, they don’t really need to speak. With some of the conversations they’ve had in their lives, even the ones without words, anything they could say right now would just feel like small talk. It never really hits Harry how much he misses Louis until they’re together again, and he realizes that they really are just halves of a whole until they can be together, even quietly like this, even just watching each other with nothing but sunshine and a couple of dirty plates between them.

It finally feels like his heart is beating in proper time, like without Louis everything is confused and unfinished but the second they’re together, even after all this time, everything clicks into place. They’re not who they used to be, not in the slightest, but they’re more, always more when they’re together. It’s like they’re just ghosts of themselves, like the song says, but when they can find the time to be together in the flesh, they finally become warm bodies again.

They move to the hammock by the pool after a bit, and Louis curls up on Harry’s still full stomach and steals his phone and plays the album again. He makes little comments here and there this time, tells Harry which lyrics he likes best and hums along with the parts he knows, some of the parts that are about him. This is exactly what Harry needed, he thinks, everything he’s got right now, to make the album finally feel _finished_. Now he’s got a tour to plan and performances to put on and promo to do, but he knows he’s got his boy behind him, and that’s all he needs. 

They end up falling asleep together on the hammock, unsurprisingly. Louis never really slept the night before and Harry’s still fucked up from jet lag, but he can’t think of a single better way to spend his birthday. They’ll be ghosts again tomorrow, probably, won’t be able to spend time together like this for another couple of weeks. For now, though, they’re warm bodies and they’re in love, and no amount of time or space that separates them will be able to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	5. sweet creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The thing is, they’re not terribly used to spending this much time together. Harry supposes half the reason they’re still so madly in love with each other is because they never really get time to get tired of each other, even when they were constantly together on tour with the band. There were always people pulling them apart, then, always reasons to ache for each other, but now with nothing standing between them, they don’t really know how to deal with it._

The reception of the album is better than Harry honestly ever dreamed it would be, and as lovely as it is to see all the support and praise for it in the media, he’s overwhelmed. There’s a lot to be overwhelmed about at the moment, more than just the album finally coming out worldwide. That’s probably at the top of the list of things that has him thoroughly metaphorically winded, but it’s not the only thing on his plate. 

He’s home in London for the longest stretch of time since before he started filming for Dunkirk. Louis’s home too, which is amazing, because it’s rare that they’re ever in the same place at the same time but to be _home_ together at the same time for a long period of time is just, well, overwhelming. It’s so, so good to be able to pretend for a bit that they’re a normal couple, that this is normal for them, even though they both feel like they’re drowning in all of the attention they’re able to give each other now.

Harry’s been spending a lot of time parked on his arse, catching up on a lot of telly and music and things he’s missed while he’s been immersed in his work. Louis is writing all the time, constantly out with people and working and networking and furthering his career and Harry is so proud of him, loves hearing all about it in person when he gets home from a long day. It’s not like Harry is completely useless at the moment, though; he’s been doing some low key, secret performances and a bit of promo, but it’s mostly died down, and he’s just gearing up for the promo season for Dunkirk that’ll start up in a few weeks.

Working is good for them, Harry thinks, because it keeps them both busy and out of each other’s hair for most of the day. As much as Harry loves Louis and knows Louis loves him in return, they’ve been doing a lot of stepping on each other’s toes, and the bickering is getting more and more frequent.

The thing is, they’re not terribly used to spending this much time together. Harry supposes half the reason they’re still so madly in love with each other is because they never really get time to get tired of each other, even when they were constantly together on tour with the band. There were always people pulling them apart, then, always reasons to ache for each other, but now with nothing standing between them, they don’t really know how to deal with it.

It’s little things that set them off. Harry spent a good deal of time just this morning complaining to Louis about his habit of leaving at least one cupboard door open every time he enters the kitchen, which is probably the most petty thing he’s ever actually voiced. Louis came right back at him with complaints about how Harry _never_ puts his toothbrush away in his designated cup when he’s done brushing his teeth at night and Louis somehow always mistakes it for his own in the morning. They always laugh about it after, about how ridiculous it is that they’re arguing about something so insignificant, and then they both go on with their days with no hard feelings. 

Harry’s sprawled on the sofa with a beer now, watching a film that he’s been waiting to be added to Netflix, while Louis is out writing with some of his more creative friends. Harry’s got no plans for the rest of the week, and he thinks he might make a nice dinner for himself and Louis tonight, but he figures he’s got at least a couple more hours until Louis comes home and he doesn’t want the food to get cold before they can eat together.

It turns out he’s wrong, though, because it’s hardly less than an hour later that Louis comes through the door. Harry’s film isn’t even over yet and he’s not given a single thought to what he’s going to make for dinner, but Louis doesn’t seem bothered.

“Hi, love,” he chirps, dropping a kiss to Harry’s forehead over the back of the sofa on his way past, headed to the kitchen. “You look comfy,” he says, nodding amusedly toward Harry’s beer.

“Come join me,” Harry hums, sitting up a little as Louis rounds the corner into the kitchen. “How was the writing session?”

“Fucking amazing,” Louis says. Harry hears the fridge open, and takes another sip of his beer as he waits for Louis to come back. “Um, do we have any more beer?”

“There should be one in there,” Harry frowns. “Is there not?”

“No, there’s not, you dick,” Louis sighs, but he doesn’t sound actually upset. He still comes back to the sofa pouting, plopping down next to Harry. “You always take the last one, and you never replace it,” he complains.

“I didn’t notice we were out,” Harry says honestly.

“Well, pay more attention,” Louis mumbles. “You’re not the only one who lives here, you know.”

“Oh, please, teach me everything you know, Captain Considerate,” Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy more beer as soon as you clean up the fucking mountain of laundry in the bathroom. _And_ the one in the bedroom,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Louis snorts. “I just cleaned it up last week.”

“Last week! I’d say more like last month,” Harry argues. “If that. You never fucking clean up your laundry. I’m not even asking you to wash it yourself, just put it in the bloody hamper.”

“Fine, what the fuck,” Louis spits, pushing himself up off the sofa. “I’ll go clean up the bleeding laundry, but when I get back down here you better have magicked up another beer for me, dickhead.” With that he stomps off up the stairs, and Harry can hear him huffing all the way to the bedroom.

He puts his beer down on the coffee table and shuffles to the kitchen, feeling rather guilty about taking the last beer. He knows Louis likes to have one at the end of the day to wind down, especially after having been out working all day, and he feels bad that he didn’t even check to make sure he wasn’t taking the last one before he took it. It’s not that big of a deal, he knows, realistically, but it does make him feel a bit inconsiderate.

Until, of course, he opens the fridge to check for himself and finds another bottle behind the milk carton. He rolls his eyes and chuckles to himself, bringing it back to the living room with him and leaving the cap on, just to spite Louis.

Louis comes stomping back down the stairs a couple minutes later, dropping back down onto the couch with an indignant huff. Harry reaches for him and pulls him in for a cuddle, which Louis accepts stiffly.

“You’ll never believe what I found behind the milk,” Harry hums, nodding to the unopened beer he left on the coffee table.

Louis still looks annoyed when he looks down, but he blushes as soon as he sees the beer. He hides his face in Harry’s shoulder and laughs quietly, shaking his head.

“Maybe next time you could search a little more thoroughly before chewing me out,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Louis’s temple.

“Sorry,” Louis murmurs, leaning up to peck Harry’s lips and then reaching for the bottle. “I’m such an arsehole. God.”

“That’s one thing I won’t argue with you over,” Harry agrees, pulling Louis back in to cuddle as soon as Louis gets the cap off his bottle. They’re quiet for a moment, watching the end of the film, until Harry presses his lips against Louis’s temple again. “Thank you for cleaning up the laundry.”

Louis goes scarlet, looking up at him. “Um, about that-”

“You fucking stuffed it all into the back of the closet again, didn’t you,” Harry growls.

“Yes,” Louis admits, laughing despite his apologetic expression.

“You’re an absolute wanker,” Harry laughs, shoving Louis gently. “You’re the worst.”

“I’ll do it properly in the morning,” Louis says, forcing himself back into Harry’s arms. “Sorry.”

“I hate you,” Harry says, but there’s no heat behind it, mostly because his face is buried in Louis’s hair again and he hasn’t washed it for at least a day but he still smells good enough to eat, in Harry’s opinion.

They spend the rest of the evening on the sofa and Harry never actually gets around to making dinner, so they just eat cereal in their pajamas on the kitchen the floor and then go to bed, somehow all without another fight.

-

If they were to keep a tally of how many days they’re able to go without biting each other’s heads off for something insignificant, they’d never get even a single tally down.

It’s been half a day since the laundry and beer debate, and already, Louis’s got a bone to pick. Harry’s enjoying a rather nice turkey sandwich for lunch in the kitchen when Louis comes storming down the stairs, hair a mess from having just woken up. He has the day off today from writing and chose to use it to sleep in, while Harry woke up early to get himself back into his yoga routine that he’s somewhat fallen out of in the past few months.

“You’re actually such an arsehole, do you know?” Louis bites out, glaring at him as he stalks over to the kettle, presumably for a cup of tea. “Like, the least considerate person in the entire world.”

“Good morning to you, too, love,” Harry hums. “How did you sleep?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis huffs. “I’m trying to yell at you right now.”

“What did I do this time?” Harry asks serenely, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Fucking- you’re such a fucking cunt sometimes,” Louis says, voice filled with venom. He appears to be shaking with real, actual rage when Harry glances up and, yeah, alright, maybe Harry should pay attention.

“What?” he says, with real concern this time. “Louis, what happened?”

“Did you not think to refill the hand soap pump when you used the last of it?” Louis says. “Like, if you use the last of the soap, do you not think you should replace it? The container is literally right under the sink, all you have to do is unscrew the top of the pump and refill it with the jug. But no, that’s too much work for you,” Louis grumbles, pouring the water from his kettle into his mug once the kettle beeps and then going straight back to glaring at Harry.

Harry’s stomach sinks because, yeah, he does remember using the last of the soap this morning. He honestly did mean to refill it, but he totally forgot about it, too caught up in his excitement to get to his yoga room and start practicing again. He pouts apologetically at Louis but that just seems to set Louis off again, going off on another rant about how annoying it was to have to refill the soap himself before being able to wash his hands.

It’s the stupidest rant Harry’s ever heard, honestly, and hardly warrants the dressing down he’s getting right now. He can’t help but notice how beautiful Louis is, though, sleep rumpled and furious, spilling a little bit of tea out of his mug with the force of his rageful hand gestures.

Harry puts down his sandwich and tries to wait for Louis to finish, but it seems like Louis isn’t going to stop until Harry stops him. He lets him go on for as long as possible, lets him get it out of his system, before finally he can’t even fake the apologetic grimace on his face anymore and the laughter starts to break through. Louis starts really yelling, then, setting his mug down on the counter and curling his hands into shaking little fists as he lectures Harry about the importance of teamwork and cooperation in shared living quarters, especially in a committed relationship.

Even like this, being a complete brat and biting Harry’s head off for something so silly, Louis is still the most gorgeous creature on god’s green Earth. Jesus, Harry loves him so much, his heart can hardly hold all of the feelings he has for this sweet, sweet man who doesn’t know what to do with his own feelings, either.

He gets up and shuffles toward Louis, even as Louis backs away, still shouting. He doesn’t stop until he’s backed Louis against the cupboard, and Louis looks absolutely crazed with anger as Harry wraps his arms around him and drags him in for a hug.

“You can’t just go around using shit up and not doing anything about it, Harry, this is a- what- get the fuck off of me, I’m not done yelling at you!” he shrieks, trying to flail his way out of Harry’s arms.

Harry just holds him a little tighter, forcing Louis’s head under his chin and holding on until he submits. Louis finally falls silent and Harry sways a little, until Louis his totally pliant against his chest.

“Sorry about the soap,” he says eventually, his voice soft, silently asking to end the fight. Louis slumps against him just a little more, digging his nose into Harry’s collarbone.

“Fuck the soap,” Louis mutters. “I honestly don’t even give a shit about the fucking soap.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, knows that if he waits long enough, Louis will open up and finally tell him what the real problem is. Harry figures Louis is feeling a lot of what Harry’s feeling; he just wants to hear him say it out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says after a long few moments. “For yelling.”

“I love you,” Harry tells him quietly, jaw moving against the crown of Louis’s head. 

“I’ve just been really stressed lately, you know, with everything, and having you around so much is honestly weird, like, I’m not used to it and I think I keep getting so angry because I’m just- I don’t know, confused? Maybe?”

“I love you,” Harry says again, a little more intently this time, asking Louis to say it back.

“I really do miss you when you’re not around, though,” Louis says. “Like, I’m not confused as to how I feel about you, you know that. I’m confused as in, like, it’s so weird having you so close for such a long period of time, I just-”

“Hey, bitch,” Harry cuts him off, pulling away an inch so Louis will look up at him. “I love you,” he says, grinning now, waiting for Louis to catch on.

“I love you too,” Louis laughs, eyes shining. Harry pulls him back in and Louis goes willingly, and they stay like that until Louis’s tea has gone cold and Harry’s sandwich is soggy and no longer appetizing. 

They’ll grow reaccustomed to each other, obviously, sooner rather than later. They always do. It’s always a bit odd to come home to each other after having been apart for so long, because they spend so much time apart that they’re more used to being alone than they are to being together. But they’ll get the hang of it, they’ll work it all out, and they’ll be fine. They’ll always be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	6. only angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Missed you,” Harry mumbles, teeth scraping against Louis’s skin. Louis shivers like he’s never been touched before, body curling against Harry’s chest. He was out all day with his family, and Harry wasn’t allowed to tag along, so he can’t really be blamed for missing him so much. They’ve been home together for months now, with a few odd days out of the country here and there, but Harry is so used to having Louis right there under his fingertips that knowing he was in the same city but completely unavailable to him was physically painful._

Caramel. Yes, definitely caramel, with possibly a hint of whipped cream and, yeah, vanilla ice cream. Sweet, really sweet, sweeter than any mouth Harry’s ever tasted and the sweetest mouth he’ll ever get to taste.

He can’t get enough of it, that sugary exhilaration, the hint of chocolate in the saliva on his tongue and in the air he breathes into his lungs, gasping, gulping, desperate for more. He wonders if there’s ever been a batch of sweets so gooey and delicious as the sound Louis makes when Harry presses him against the door a little harder and fits his right leg between Louis’s, forces him to submit and to like it.

Louis reaches for his hands, fingers scrabbling over Harry’s until Harry shifts, lets their fingers slot together so he can pin Louis’s arms back against the door, instead, giving his hips the freedom to writhe and grind on their own.

He feels crazed with it, on a secondhand sugar high, his blood turning to syrup in his veins. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, and neither does Louis, if the way he turns his face away and gasps frantically for breath is any indication.

“Harry,” he says, voice thick and a little shaky, reflective of the way Harry keeps mouthing down his neck. His skin tastes different, here, is more salty with dried sweat and it mingles gorgeously with the taste of Louis’s mouth lingering on Harry’s tongue. Harry thinks he could bottle this flavor, and he could live the rest of his life off of it alone.

“Harry,” Louis says again, more firmly this time. He seems like he’s finally getting ahold of himself, which, no, not on Harry’s watch. Harry’s been waiting far too long for this for Louis to ruin it by trying to be sensible. “Fuck, wait, oh my god,” Louis whines, pushing halfheartedly against Harry’s hold while Harry bites into the curve of his neck.

“Missed you,” Harry mumbles, teeth scraping against Louis’s skin. Louis shivers like he’s never been touched before, body curling against Harry’s chest. He was out all day with his family, and Harry wasn’t allowed to tag along, so he can’t really be blamed for missing him so much. They’ve been home together for months now, with a few odd days out of the country here and there, but Harry is so used to having Louis right there under his fingertips that knowing he was in the same city but completely unavailable to him was physically painful.

“I was out for five hours,” Louis says. And, yeah, he’s got a point. He wasn’t even out for a quarter of the day; Harry should probably pull himself together. He considers his options for a moment, considers backing off and having a tame night in or keeping up and having Louis whining and coming in his hand in only a few minutes and, really, his choice is clear.

“You had fun?” Harry asks gruffly, letting go of Louis’s hands in favor of grabbing his hips again, hoisting him up just enough so that he has to struggle to stay on his toes, grinding hard against his hip.

Louis makes the prettiest little gurgle, low in his throat like he’s trying to conceal it. “Yeah,” he pants, clutching at Harry’s shoulders hard, nails digging into his skin through his shirt. “Went for dinner and we sat outside, was nice. Got ice cream after, and the kids were- _fuck_ , were practically falling asleep so- so Lottie took them home,” he manages, choking back another little moan.

“Wish I could’ve come,” Harry mutters, biting into the same spot on Louis’s neck again, lining up his teeth with the marks he left. 

“Can we- _oh_ , can we have this conversation without you trying to fuck me through my clothes? Can I at least take my shoes off?”

Harry can’t help but chuckle, pulling away a fraction of an inch. Louis’s gathered himself pretty successfully and the mood is a little bit wrecked, but he can still feel how Louis is already hard in his jeans, Harry’s thigh still pressed against him.

He had hoped that jumping him as soon as he came through the door would be exciting enough for some really spontaneous sex, but as soon as Harry lets Louis down and steps away, Louis resumes kicking his Vans off and shrugging out of his light jacket as if nothing even happened.

“Can we still have sex, though?” Harry asks dumbly, pouting his lip. “I missed you. And I’m horny.”

“I suppose we can still have sex,” Louis shrugs, a smirk sprouting on his lips. “If you can catch me.”

With that he takes off up the stairs, socked feet slipping a little on the hardwood. He doesn’t fall, though, nimble as ever, and he’s halfway up the stairs before Harry even has time to react. He charges after him, bounding up the stairs, following the sound of Louis’s laughter down the hall.

Yeah, he’s definitely on a sugar high. Louis’s laughing like nothing’s ever been funnier, squealing as he slams the bedroom door shut just before Harry can slip through.

“Hey!” Harry shouts, slamming an open palm against the door. “Louis! Let me in!”

“Make me!” Louis giggles back, his voice close, like he’s just on the other side of the door. Harry’s so turned on he thinks about ramming his head through the door just to get his mouth on Louis’s again, taste how sweet he is even after he’s licked away all of the sugar.

“Open the door, you little shit,” he grumbles, trying the handle and finding it locked. “Come on! What am I supposed to do, go outside and scale the wall to come in through the window?”

“That sounds dramatic,” Louis laughs manically, “try it!”

“Louis!” Harry whines, pounding on the door again. “Please!”

“I like it when you beg,” Louis says, his voice as sweet as the inside of his mouth was just a few minutes ago, when Harry still had the upper hand. “Keep begging for me, baby.”

“Open the fucking door, you gremlin,” Harry growls. He pounds a little harder, hissing when a jolt of pain shoots through his hand. He cries out a little and clutches his finger to his chest, squeezing it to stop the throbbing.

Louis must forget his little charade when he hears Harry’s whining, whipping the door open with concern written all over his face. Harry feels no pain, suddenly, looking at Louis standing there with his hair all messed up and fluffy from running, the front of his jeans still tented. He drops his hand and shoves into the room, grabbing Louis by the waist and wrestling him to the bed.

“You tricked me!” Louis shrieks, loud enough Harry’s surprised the windows don’t shatter. “That’s cheating!”

“It’s not cheating,” Harry argues, sitting on his hips and pinning his hands above his head. “I genuinely think I just broke my finger knocking on the bedroom door.”

“That’s what you get for calling me a gremlin, frog face,” Louis says, sticking his tongue out at him. Harry can’t help himself, swoops down and sucks Louis’s sassy tongue right into his mouth, swallowing Louis’s yelp of surprise.

Louis does a fair job at fighting him, wriggles and struggles against Harry’s hold until Harry’s almost sure he’s actually trying to get away. He knows he’s not, though, can tell by the way that Louis is whining and moaning and grinding his hips that he’s absolutely loving it.

He doesn’t break the kiss until Louis finally submits, his body going pliant against the bed. Finally he pulls away, sitting up but keeping his grip firm on Louis’s wrists, looking down to admire him.

Louis’s eyes are glassy and dark when he meets Harry’s eyes, his hair absolutely ruined from all the struggling. His shirt is all ridden up and his tummy is out, looking soft and bronze and good enough to eat, in Harry’s opinion. He looks like an angel, this boy of his, this boy who is never going to get away from him.

There are still red marks on his neck from Harry’s teeth and he leans back in to deepen them, biting down hard on the little patch of skin. Louis whines and bucks his hips up, dick brushing the underside of Harry’s arse. Harry pushes down a little to give him something to rub against and goes to town, biting and sucking and slurping at Louis’s neck. 

Louis loses it quickly, breath going quick and shaky while his hips twitch and move like he has no control over them. He’s making sounds like he can’t even breathe, like Harry is sucking his self awareness right out of his skin.

He keeps it up for as long as Louis keeps reacting, biting Louis’s skin so raw and tender that Louis’s sobbing against his ear. “Gonna come, Harry,” he grits out, the muscles in his arms spasming under Harry’s hands. “Stop, gonna- fuck, I’m gonna-”

Harry gives him one last hard bite and Louis wails, bucking up hard against Harry’s arse and coming in his pants. Harry sucks gently on his skin as he rides it out, rocks his hips down against Louis’s until Louis is trembling beneath him.

“You’re an arse,” Louis spits, but he sounds wrecked, sounds so fucking good. Harry moans into his neck, rocking down a little harder. “Get off me, fucking hell, it hurts.”

“I love you,” Harry tells him, letting go of his wrists and cupping his face. He’s surprised to find Louis’s cheeks a bit wet, but if the color of the bruise blooming on his neck is any indication, Harry hurt him pretty well.

“Love you,” Louis murmurs, tilting his chin up to kiss Harry’s lips. “Even though you’re a sex demon, probably.”

“And you’re my angel,” Harry grins, pecking the tip of Louis’s nose and then reaching down to pop the button of his jeans. “My only angel.”

Louis grunts and twitches a little, looking begrudgingly at where Harry’s starting to pull his jeans and pants off, sticky come making the slide uncomfortable. “Harry,” he whines, grabbing at Harry’s shoulder and squeezing hard.

“Got you,” Harry assures him, dropping his jeans to the floor and going for his shirt next. “I’ve got you, love.”

Louis lets him pull his shirt off, and watches quietly while Harry undresses himself, as well. He looks like the definition of sex, Harry thinks, laying there all tired and loose with droopy eyelids and a little bit of his own come on his thigh. Harry gets up to kick his jeans off and grabs the lube on his way back to the bed, grinning when Louis spreads his legs for him immediately.

“Not too tired?” he smirks, making himself comfortable in the space between Louis’s legs and popping open the bottle of lube.

“You’re good, Styles, but you’re not that good,” Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s bluffing. He’s worked up still, Harry can tell, and Harry wants to absolutely ruin him before they call it a day.

“We’ll see about that,” Harry hums, tracing one finger around Louis’s hole and watching as his whole body tenses up deliciously. 

Louis is probably still pleasantly full from dinner and dessert with his family, his tummy just a little bit swollen where he’s all spread out on his back. He’s watching Harry with his teeth closed around the tip of his tongue, over sensitive but not wanting to say anything. Harry can read him like a book, knows every bump and curve of his body like braille, can hear every message his skin tries to send. He hisses just a little when Harry pushes his finger in up the first knuckle, and Harry strokes his free hand down the length of Louis’s stomach.

“I’m fine,” Louis says, squirming a little. “C’mon, don’t go soft on me now. You pinned me to the fucking door before even saying hello to me when I got home, you better not turn this into some kind of mushy vanilla-”

Harry pulls his finger out and rams back in with two, killing Louis’s voice in his throat. Louis’s entire body jolts, his hand flying to his cock, bumping into Harry’s where it’s still resting on his stomach.

“What was that?” Harry asks sweetly, in stark contrast to the way he’s scissoring his fingers, stretching Louis open quickly and mercilessly.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, rocking his hips down. “More, I-”

Harry crooks his fingers to bump his prostate and then leans in, folding himself in half to nuzzle his face just below Louis’s balls. Louis chokes on a little dry sob and Harry tongues around where his fingers are splitting him open, getting him wet and messy and ready.

Louis is rock hard again by the next time Harry looks up; granted, it’s been nearly fifteen minutes, and Harry himself is about ready to cry for some relief. He finally pulls his fingers out and wipes his face on the back of his arm, getting up on his knees and hooking Louis’s trembling legs around his waist.

Sliding in feels like coming home, like entering the gates of heaven and knowing that this is it, nothing can be better than this. He leans down to bury his face in Louis’s neck again and Louis flinches away from him, protecting the bruise that’s still smarting. 

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles, rocking his hips against Harry’s. “Yeah, Harry, yes.”

Harry smiles to himself and snaps his hips forward, Louis’s body jolting on the bed. Harry chuckles and does it again, and again, and again, and Louis unravels like he’s made of ribbon. He’s angelic, honestly, the way his face twists and the sounds he makes and the brush of his fingertips over Harry’s shoulder that turns into blunt nails dragging down his back. Harry hisses and bites into his bruise to get revenge, adoring the way Louis shrieks in a mix of anguish and delight.

Louis bites him back when he least expects it, just as Harry’s beginning to lose himself in the rhythm of his hips driving into Louis’s. He must be annoyed with the lack of attention he’s receiving because just as Harry drops his head back and lets himself start to love it, Louis arches forward and sinks his sharp teeth into the soft skin at the dip between his collarbones.

Harry shouts and shoves him away, rubbing a hand over the spot. He’s actually shocked to find he’s not bleeding, his skin burning.

“You fucking devil,” he growls, moving his hands from the mattress beside Louis’s head to his shoulders, holding him down and fucking him a little harder. Louis fights him a little, wants to make him work for it, so Harry gathers up his wrists in one hand and pins them to the bed and wraps the other hand around Louis’s throat, applying no pressure at all but still making Louis’s eyes pop with the threat.

He slows his hips a bit to shift his position, his knees beginning to ache. Louis must think he’s distracted because he lunges again, but he chokes himself on Harry’s hand, wheezing rather unattractively and falling to the bed coughing.

“You’re a menace,” Harry chuckles, taking his hand away from Louis’s neck to smooth over his cheek. He doesn’t let Louis regain his breath while he pulls out, using Louis’s temporary weakness to flip him over, pinning him down face first.

Louis screams into the bed but Harry pays him no mind, using his knees to spread Louis’s legs again and keep them spread while he fucks back in. Louis sounds like he’s possessed, thrashing and shrieking under Harry’s weight, struggling desperately to keep his face free so he won’t suffocate in the sheets. Harry can feel him clenching, can feel exactly how much he’s loving it, can feel his hands trembling where he’s got them trapped against his lower back.

“That’s right, love,” Harry breathes into his ear, shivering when Louis shivers. “You’re so fucking pretty, even when you’re being a little shit. Are you gonna come for me, angel? Gonna let me hear you moan for me?”

Louis whines, struggling a little against Harry’s hold. “Please,” he sobs, his whole body tense and shaking. “Can’t come like this, need something more, please,” he begs.

“Should have thought of that before you bit me like an animal,” Harry hums, fucking him a little harder. He’s found Louis’s spot, he knows, because Louis can hardly even breathe without whimpering and moaning.

“Harry, please,” Louis cries, actually cries, stretching his neck to look up at him. “Please, make me come.”

Harry takes one look at his face and comes, so suddenly and so hard his vision whites out. He fucks into Louis deep and moans low and long into the back of his neck, mouthing wetly at his skin until he regains control of himself.

Louis is panting beneath him, still strung tight, shaking like a leaf. Harry pulls out and turns him over, getting his fingers in his arse again and fucking him fast while he wraps his mouth around his cock.

It doesn’t take long before Louis lets go, arching so high Harry’s afraid he might just snap in half. He does his best to swallow everything and doesn’t stop until Louis knots a hand in his hair and shoves him away, covering his own face with his arm.

Harry nuzzles his face into the inside of Louis’s thigh and pulls his fingers out slowly, pressing soft kisses against Louis’s skin until he’s not shaking quite as bad. They’ve made an absolute mess, but Harry already knows that Louis will throw a fit if he tries to change the sheets right now, so he decides he’ll have to do the best he can with a wet cloth.

Louis’s drifting off to sleep as Harry climbs off the bed to clean up, but he keeps his eyes cracked open, watching his every move, like he doesn’t trust Harry not to try and make him come again if he doesn’t keep his eye on him. Harry just gives him small, gentle smiles, cleaning up what he can and then finally curling up next to Louis.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” Louis mutters, moving lazily to drape himself over Harry’s body. “You’re too good. You always know exactly what I want.”

“‘S because we’re soulmates,” Harry grins, pulling the covers up over them and cuddling him close. “And I love you. And that’s the only reason why I didn’t actually choke you out for biting me.”

“Sorry,” Louis giggles, peeling his eyes open again to look up at him. “I didn’t mean to bite you so hard. But it got me what I wanted, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, don’t make a habit of it,” Harry mutters, pressing a gentle kiss to Louis’s forehead. “Goodnight, Lou.”

“Night, Hazza,” Louis yawns, putting his head down on his chest. Harry watches him fall asleep, watches the flutter of his eyelids until they settle, his breathing going deep and smooth.

He lets himself drift off, as well, with the taste of sugar still on his lips. If Harry dies tonight, at least he’ll die happy, his angel in his arms and his heart full of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	7. kiwi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fucking hell, is he over it. He feels like every time he turns around there’s another party to attend, another girl to be seen with, another news outlet to defend his own honor to. He loves the music, he loves performing and he adores his fans and knows they adore him as well, the real him, that is. He knows they hate that he has to do this as much as he hates that he has to do it, and while they do seem to appreciate the photos sometimes, Harry knows they’d be just as happy without. He doesn’t understand why his team can’t understand that, why the media deems it so important for him to be constantly paraded around like a celebrity, the one thing he’s never wanted to be._

Music is pulsing from every corner of the room, so loud Harry can feel it in his chest and throat every time he breathes in. It’s not entirely situationally appropriate, as far as he’s concerned, but he’s never shied away from a party, so he supposes he can let loose. Industry parties have a tendency to get a little out of control sometimes, anyway, and though Harry hardly fancies the headlines that might accompany him making a few bad choices, he can’t imagine anyone’s career will suffer tonight.

There’s a lot of models in tight little dresses, a lot of which are eyeing him over the rims of half empty mixed drinks. Harry’s got his shirt unbuttoned down to about his bellybutton and he knows his jeans are skin tight and even a little tighter with sweat, and he imagines his skin is a little flushed from the alcohol and the heat. If Louis was here, Harry thinks, he’d have dragged Harry to the toilets half an hour ago and they’d probably still be there.

Someone screams by the bar and Harry glances over, the screams swelling and dissolving into laughter. Someone’s standing on the bar with a bottle of champagne aimed at the crowd in front of them, cork popped and sticky alcohol drenching the people pushing to get under it. Harry hardly resists the urge to roll his eyes, sipping at his Shirley Temple and watching quietly.

He came with a couple of people, none of whom are terribly important to him. One of them was a model he thinks he should remember the name of, and he’s probably meant to leave with her at the end of the night, but Harry supposes any of the blonde, bronze-skinned beauties in the room will do as far as the press is concerned. Harry doesn’t mean to objectify them, but the media does, and unfortunately, Harry still is not in a position which allows him to be quite as openly feminist as he would like to be. He’s somehow still the world’s favorite womanizer, even after everything. It’s a terrible image, in his opinion, especially when he thinks about the blue eyes and soft body he’s left back in Los Angeles, the only person he ever wants to lay claim over.

The person standing on the bar gets ushered off and scolded, presumably by someone from his team. Harry doesn’t recognize him; he’s probably somebody on the rise, someone who’s come to this party to get his name out there. He’s not building a terribly good reputation for himself, Harry thinks. Unless that’s the reputation he’s going for, which, Harry will admit, he cannot get behind.

He hears a camera shutter and squints to find it, finding someone about a foot away from his face with a camera. He somehow finds it in himself to not be annoyed, realizes that this is this man’s job to be here and to be taking high quality photos of every drop of sweat on Harry’s face. Harry gives him a tight smile and then glances away, posing for a few ostensibly candid photos, before shouldering through the crowd and toward the bar. At least with his back against the bar he knows no one can sneak up on him from behind, and he’s safe to people watch as much as he likes.

A couple of people approach him over the next few hours, some asking for photos and some buying him drink after drink without his approval. He hardly touches most of them, leaves them unattended on the bar and shifts away until the next glass is pressed into his hand, rinse and repeat. That being said, he does get quite drunk, drunk enough that he’s laughing loud and unabashedly before long, joking with people he’s never met and being handsy enough with the attractive men of the industry to earn himself a good few scoldings from his management and his boyfriend, each. 

He makes sure to be seen with more than a few girls, as well, lets the photographers snap photos of him leaning in to let them shout into his ear, the music still drowning out the sound of his own thoughts. He’s just being polite, but he knows that that won’t come across in the photos, that the headlines will focus more on the long, red painted fingernails resting against his chest than the tightness of his face as a particularly wasted young woman slurs absolute gibberish into his ear.

Harry gives her a polite smile and a nod, as if he understood anything she said, and then turns away. She disappears into the crowd, too inebriated to be offended by Harry’s cold shoulder, and Harry takes on the next. It’s like they’re never ending, like there’s a bottomless pool from which these people who so desperately want to speak with him are crawling, and all Harry wants to do is go home and curl up with his boy until his ears stop ringing and his brain feels a little less like it’s full of static. 

He’s pretty sure it’s just the same song playing over and over, anyway, the same pounding beat hammering away at his sanity. It’d be fun if he cared for any of the people near him, if he trusted one or two of them enough to let loose and dance with them. He’s not quite sure who he even came with tonight and he’s positive he won’t be able to find them again, let alone pick them out of a crowd. He dances by himself, a bit, and with whoever approaches to join him, but he’s ultimately guarded, tired, and over it.

Fucking hell, is he over it. He feels like every time he turns around there’s another party to attend, another girl to be seen with, another news outlet to defend his own honor to. He loves the music, he loves performing and he adores his fans and knows they adore him as well, the real him, that is. He knows they hate that he has to do this as much as he hates that he has to do it, and while they do seem to appreciate the photos sometimes, Harry knows they’d be just as happy without. He doesn’t understand why his team can’t understand that, why the media deems it so important for him to be constantly paraded around like a celebrity, the one thing he’s never wanted to be. 

The worst part is, people think he’s letting it go to his head. He’s been called pretentious and arrogant and aloof, all of which belongs to his carefully crafted public appearance. Harry can’t stand it, wishes he could craft his own goddamn public appearance and be every bit as soft and odd and fiercely full of love as he is behind closed doors. He knows that the people who look can see that side of him, but he also knows that most people aren’t looking, they’re only seeing what’s being shown to them.

Not that it matters, of course, to anyone but him. It really doesn’t affect anyone’s life what Harry Styles the Singer Slash Actor Slash Heartthrob Slash Heartbreaker does, except his own. That’s what makes it so much more frustrating, though, in his opinion, is that even though nothing has ever mattered less what girl he has to pretend to be interested in this week, it seems to be the only thing anyone can focus on, sometimes even more than his music or his charity or his activism. He wants so badly to be more charitable and politically involved, wants to motivate people to do the same. He doesn’t want to normalize the things going on at this party, the objectification of every body wrapped up in a tight little sleeve and the abuse of the substances free flowing from the bar.

He watches a girl stumble out of the bathroom, wiping at her nose, eyes darting around sluggishly. He feels bad for her, knows that this isn’t where she belongs, if that’s what it brings her to. He doesn’t pity her, not a bit, but he wonders if her choices have more to do with who she is now or who she’s trying to be.

She’s in a tight, sleeveless black dress, which cuts off just under her arse. Her heels are too tall and she’s a little wobbly as she tries to push through the crowd, but she’s a little too high, can’t really navigate. There’s still a bit of powder under nose and Harry finds himself pushing through the crowd to get to her before he can help himself, catching her by the elbow and steadying her when she nearly tips over. She blinks up at him, big blue eyes framed by impeccably curled, platinum blonde hair. She looks a bit shocked, like she can’t believe he approached her. Harry smiles softly, and she gives him a dreamy, barely there smile in return.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he tells her, shouting close to her ear so she’ll be able to hear him over the music. “Are you alright?”

“I’m Candice,” she tells him, eyebrows pulling together a little. “But that’s not my real name.”

“Okay,” Harry nods, mostly ignoring the comment. She’s a model, he assumes, or an actress, with a stage name that’s more attractive and exotic than her real name. “I’m gonna get out of here, do you want a ride home?”

Candice blinks again and then smiles, lips spreading slow like honey. “Oh, alright,” she giggles, pressing into his side and letting him guide her out of the crowd. “Can I tweet about it?”

“Maybe later,” Harry says, pulling his phone out of his pocket to make sure his car is waiting outside. It’s only about midnight, but he expected to not want to stay long. 

It’s considerably less loud outside, as Harry helps Candice out of the establishment and onto the pavement outside. His driver hops out of the car and opens the door for them, and Harry helps Candice maneuver her body into the backseat before he jobs around and climbs in the other side. There are cameras snapping from every angle, which is what’s supposed to happen. Harry’s supposed to be seen leaving with a girl tonight, but nobody has to know he’s just making sure she gets home alright. 

They don’t speak much in the car, Candice watching out the window like she’s never seen New York before. Harry wonders if she has, idly, while he scrolls through his phone, opening the text Louis sent him with a picture of him cuddling Clifford attached. He smiles at it for a bit, while Candice tells the driver where her apartment is in the Bronx. 

They still haven’t spoken when they pull up outside the complex, Candice quietly muttering to the driver that he’s found the right place. She looks over at Harry then, a little nervously, and tucks her chin down a bit.

“I have a boyfriend,” she says, lets it hang in the air for a moment, eyes locked with Harry’s. Harry doesn’t say anything, just thinks quietly that the little spot of coke on Candice’s upper lip is gone, and he quite hopes it was already gone before they stepped outside in front of all the cameras. “Do you want to come inside?” she says eventually, even quieter, a little hopeful. Harry doesn’t want to read into it, doesn’t let himself feel guilty for saying no or imagine what she’s about to go home to.

“That’s alright,” he says, giving her hand a little squeeze. “Just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Candice gives him a real smile, as real a smile as she can manage with how cloudy her brain must be. “Thank you,” she says, voice quiet and dream like; Harry almost thinks he imagined it.

The driver opens the door for her and she steps out, wobbling up to the door of her building. The driver helps her, bless him, but once she’s through the door, all Harry can do is hope she goes right to bed and sleeps well.

The driver takes him back into the city to his hotel, accepts Harry’s firm thank you and generous tip with a genuine smile, more genuine than anyone’s been with Harry all night. Harry lets himself in the front door of the hotel, where there are thankfully no more cameras. He’s safe for the night, safe to be just Harry.

He showers when he gets to his room, tucks himself up in bed with wet hair and boxers low on his hips. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, even though his mind is plagued by the dozens of articles he knows he’s bound to wake up to, about how he left a party with some no name girl who looks absolutely trashed. There’ll be articles about how he’s a jerk, how he uses women, and he can only hope Candice will forgive him for what they may do to her name, if anything at all.

He sleeps through the night and late into the morning, late enough that when he wakes up, there’s already a text from Louis waiting for him. He realizes that he never responded to the photo of him and Clifford the night before, and that he never even texted Louis to let him know that he got back safe. He figures Louis already knows he did, though, by the screenshot of the article Louis’s sent him.

_PHOTO: HARRY STYLES LEAVES NIGHTCLUB WITH BLONDE MODEL_

It’s just the headline, with a photo of Harry and Candice outside the party, his arm wrapped protectively around her thin shoulders. She looks every bit as dreamy and dazed as he remembers her, but thankfully there’s no remnants of coke on her face, so Harry figures he’s safe from those rumors for now.

He closes the picture to read the text Louis’s sent with it, a small smile pulling at his lips.

_Louis: damn i think she’s prettier than me :/_

Harry chuckles quietly, rubbing at his face. He taps out a few different responses, but decides to go with the one he knows Louis is looking for.

_Harry: No one on this planet is prettier than you, Louis._

Louis takes a few minutes to respond, long enough for Harry to have a little chuckle over some of the articles already out about his ‘wild evening’.

_Louis: damn, tru !_

Harry laughs loudly, rolling over onto his back and grinning up at his phone. He misses Louis something fierce, wants so badly to be wrapped up in bed with him right now, to be able to roll over and into his side.

They’ll see each other in a couple of days, when Harry finally gets to leave New York and go back to LA for a bit. They do their best to enjoy their time apart, to make the most of it, but Harry can’t imagine anything sweeter than the taste of Louis’s lips right now.

They text back and forth throughout the morning, until Harry’s forced out of bed and out onto the streets to take some more supposedly candid photos getting Starbucks and enjoying Central Park. The rumors about Candice will die down in a couple of days, probably, seeing as how she’s already tweeted that Harry was just being kind and helping her get home. Louis sends him the screenshot of that, as well, calls him a proper hero, and even through text message, Harry can hear how fond he is. 

They’ll only have a few days together in LA next week before Louis flies out to New York for some more promo, but they’ve learned over the years how to take full advantage of the bits of time they do have together. Someday they won’t have to sneak around, they’ll be able to accompany each other to their separate parties and promo dates, and everything will be as it should be. Until then, though, all they can do is make it bearable, and if that means making jokes of everything their lives have become, then, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	8. ever since new york

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s rare that their promo overlaps, but today it does. Louis’s been in New York for the past few days and he’s leaving tomorrow, which gives them one night to spend together. They’ve been talking about it for a while, about one of them sneaking over to the other’s hotel, since they’re not staying in the same one. They’ve yet to make solid plans, but it might help if Louis could just answer his text instead of stopping and starting over and over like he appears to be, the three dots appearing and disappearing a couple times._

_Just landed_ , Harry types, one thumb moving quickly over the keyboard on his phone while his other hand lifts his iced coffee to his mouth, taking a long sip. He sends the text off and stuffs his phone into his pocket, following his security through the airport to the baggage claim.

There aren’t terribly many people in the airport, which is lovely. No one seems to even bat an eye in his direction and he’s able to snatch his bag and make it out to the car with no hassles. He can’t remember the last time arriving in New York was this easy; maybe this is a good omen for how the rest of this week is going to go.

He’s got mostly promo planned for the next few days, starting tomorrow. He’s got the rest of the afternoon and this evening to relax and prepare, but bright and early tomorrow morning he’s got a radio appearance, and then some interviews throughout the rest of the day.

The album is doing incredibly well. It shot almost immediately to number one, which wasn’t exactly surprising; Harry’s got the best fans in the entire world, and he’s come to expect that they’re always going to be there making his dreams come true and helping him do exactly what he wants to do. He really hopes they enjoy the promo, even those of them that are able to see through the majority of the bullshit. They’re still painting him as a bad boy womanizer in the media, and he knows that the fans are less than pleased with that, but he really does hope they like the interviews and small shows he’s been doing.

He doesn’t check his phone again until the car is moving, en route from the airport to the hotel. The city is jammed with traffic, as per usual, but it’s not a long drive. It’s a bit stop and go, but Harry doesn’t mind, sipping at his drink as he opens up his phone.

A couple of emails, a few texts from random people, but the text he sent upon landing has gone unanswered. Harry frowns a little and taps to open the message thread, frowning even deeper when he sees that Louis hasn’t even read it yet.

_On my way to my hotel, what are you up to?_ he sends, watching the message for a few minutes until Louis finally opens it. His shoulders slump with relief once Louis starts typing. Sometimes Louis doesn’t text back right away if he doesn’t absolutely have to, if there isn’t a question in Harry’s text. That’s usually only when he’s very busy, though, and Harry doesn’t like the idea that he’s busy right now.

It’s rare that their promo overlaps, but today it does. Louis’s been in New York for the past few days and he’s leaving tomorrow, which gives them one night to spend together. They’ve been talking about it for a while, about one of them sneaking over to the other’s hotel, since they’re not staying in the same one. They’ve yet to make solid plans, but it might help if Louis could just answer his text instead of stopping and starting over and over like he appears to be, the three dots appearing and disappearing a couple times.

_Louis: just got out of the shower , not sure what i’m doing tonight_

Harry finds his lips curling downwards at the response, eyebrows furrowing.

_To Louis: Do you still want to try and meet up? I haven’t seen you in ages and tonight is our only chance until we’re both home again._

Louis doesn’t open the message, but before Harry can follow up with all the sad faces he can manage, the car pulls up outside of the hotel and people start swarming, banging on the windows like animals. Harry figures this is the rush of fans and paparazzi he missed at the airport, shoving his phone back into his pocket and clutching his bag to his chest as his driver opens the door for him, his security helping him shoulder through the crowd and into the front door of the hotel. He should be used to it by now, the screaming girls and flashing lights and the grabbing and the pulling and the touching, but he’s not. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to it, still shaken as he shuffles up to the front desk to check in.

He takes the lift up to his room and drops his bag by the bed, flopping down onto the mattress and reaching for his phone again. Louis is typing when Harry opens the thread but he stops a few seconds later, and Harry gives him a couple of minutes, but he doesn’t actually answer.

Harry decides he’s done playing games and opens Louis’s contact, hitting call and rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling while he listens to the phone ring. Louis takes nearly four entire rings to answer, which is annoying because Harry knows he was just by his phone a moment ago, but when he finally answers the sound of his voice is enough to have Harry relaxing into the bed.

“Hi, love,” Louis says, and there’s some rustling in the background, like he’s multitasking. “Sorry, am just getting dressed. Was trying to text and put me jeans on at the same time.”

“That’s alright,” Harry hums, smiling at the image. “I just got to my hotel and checked in and everything, but there are people outside, so they know this is where I’m staying. If we meet up I’m probably gonna have to find a way to get to yours, since they’ll notice if you come here,” he says.

“Oh,” Louis mutters, and there’s a lot of background noise again, like he’s still distracted. “Yeah, well, whatever. I don’t really know.”

“You don’t really know what?” Harry asks, sitting up a little. This sounds like Louis trying to get out of plans; Harry’s heard it a million times, but never directed at him. 

“Uh, just, I don’t know. I was thinking about going out with Steve and some lads tonight,” Louis says. 

“Steve and some lads?” Harry says, doing his best not to sound offended, even though he is. “And, what, go clubbing?”

“Yeah. Well, Steve’s got a show in town tonight and I think it’d be fun to go. I haven’t seen him in a bit, so, like, it would be good to party with him again.”

“What about me, though?” Harry asks, running the risk of sounding like a whiney child. “You haven’t seen me in a bit, either. Longer than a bit, actually, if you ask me.”

“But like, that’s complicated,” Louis says. “Like, you coming here is so risky and hard, maybe it’d be easier to just not.”

“I don’t care,” Harry says immediately. “I don’t care. I’ll say I have a friend staying in that hotel if anyone catches me. We can make it work, Lou. I just want to see you,” he pouts.

“I know, baby, I want to see you as well,” Louis says. “But I don’t think it’s worth the trouble.”

Harry blanches a little, stomach tightening. His absolute worst fear, for the past six years, has been hearing those words come out of Louis’s mouth. He wants to cry, but he holds it together, hopes to hell he’s overreacting.

“Right, not worth the trouble,” he mutters, clenching his jaw, twisting one hand in the sheets of the bed.

“Harry-”

“So you’d rather hang out with Steve than me, yeah?” Harry says. “I get it.”

“Well obviously bloody not, Harry,” Louis sighs. “That’s not what I’m saying. Of course I’d rather see you, but I just think it’d be easier for both of us to just skip it tonight.”

“Nothing’s easier than being with you,” Harry argues. “No matter what. I don’t care what kind of fucking hoops we have to jump through, I want to see you.”

“I can think of at least a million things that are easier than being with me,” Louis chuckles, but it’s sad, a little. “But alright.”

“Alright?” Harry asks hopefully. “So can I come over? You can invite Steve and whoever else, as well, and we can just get drunk and whatever and it’ll be fun, please,” he says, almost begging, heart dropping when Louis sighs.

“I don’t know, Haz,” he mutters. “I think I’m just gonna go out.”

“What the fuck,” Harry spits, can’t help it. “Why don’t you want to spend time with me? You don’t have to bloody do anything, just sit there and I’ll come to you,” he says.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, voice small. Harry almost feels bad.

“Are you giving up?” Harry asks, throat tightening. “Are you gonna let them win? You’ve never turned me down because it’s too hard before, hell, we’ve done shit way more complicated to be able to spend a night together, but this is the thing you can’t do? Is this the thing that breaks us?”

He’s definitely overreacting, panic rising in his throat, but Louis’s silence is only making it worse.

“I just- I don’t know,” he says again, like he’s on the verge of tears as well.

“No, tell me,” Harry demands. “Tell me why I’m not worth it anymore.”

Louis’s breath catches like he’s really trying not to cry, and it breaks something in Harry, as well. “It’s not- I don’t know. I just think it’s easier if we, like, don’t. Just not tonight.”

Harry bites back a sob, somehow manages to keep his voice clear and even when he says, “alright, then. Sorry being with me is such a burden.”

He hangs up after that, throwing his phone onto the sofa across the room and rubbing at his face. He doesn’t let himself cry, not right now. He’s so fucking angry, and hurt, and confused, but he can’t cry about it, because he’s still telling himself he’s overreacting and crying will just make him feel even worse.

He goes to have a shower, instead, because he feels dry and gross from the plane ride and he wants to at least feel okay on the outside right now. He orders some room service when he’s done, eats it in bed and watches some bad rom com on the hotel TV, and tries very hard to not think about Louis.

He ends up grabbing his phone from where he threw it a couple hours later, once it’s dark outside and he’s getting increasingly sadder and lonelier. He almost expects to see an apology text from Louis, maybe even a couple of them, but there’s nothing. That’s what finally breaks the dam and sends tears spilling down his cheeks, the fact that Louis doesn’t even care enough to make sure he’s okay. Maybe Harry should be more worried about Louis’s well being, seeing as he’s literally never turned down an opportunity to see Harry before. Maybe Harry should be worried that something is wrong that doesn’t have to do with him at all, that Louis is going through something in his precious head and isn’t telling him about it. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But then he checks Instagram, goes straight to Steve’s account since he isn’t allowed to follow him back. He finds exactly what he’s looking for in Steve’s most recent photo; it’s of him and Louis, both of them grinning, standing on a stage with a crowd on the floor behind them. He’s written a caption about how Louis surprised him at his show and came up on stage to dance with him, but Harry isn’t terribly interested, staring at Louis’s eyes. He’s not happy, not at all, but it’s not obvious. Harry doubts anyone else would be able to notice, because no one knows Louis quite as well as he does. But Harry can see the sadness in his eyes, can see the way he’s not totally interested in being where he is. It just makes it all the more confusing, though. Why would Louis blow him off to go do something he doesn’t even want to do?

What makes it even worse is that their management will be thrilled with the idea that Louis went ahead and made sure he was seen somewhere without Harry on the day that everyone knows their schedules overlap. They’ll be so pleased that at least one of them wasn’t MIA tonight, that no one will be able to speculate that maybe they’re together right now.

If it was a few years earlier, Harry might tweet some sad song lyrics right now, or maybe just tell the world that he’s having a really nice tuna melt all by himself in bed right now wishing he was somewhere else. But he doesn’t really use twitter anymore, doesn’t like putting that much of himself into the world. The world gets enough of him, he supposes, and right now, it’s getting the best of him.

He turns off the TV when his film is over and tucks himself under the covers, plugging his phone into the charger beside the bed. He keeps hoping that maybe it’ll light up with a text from Louis saying he’s changed his mind, he just got back to his hotel and wants Harry to come over. It doesn’t, though, and Harry’s somewhat grateful for the lack of opportunity to show exactly how pathetically whipped he is for Louis.

-

His alarm goes off too early the next morning, but he’s only going to the radio, so he figures he can lie in a bit and not look his absolute best for the interview. He showered last night, after all, and his hair doesn’t require much work at this length; he just needs to leave enough time to brush his teeth and get dressed, and he’ll be good to go. 

He checks his phone once he shuts the alarm off, still bundled up under the covers. He’s actually surprised to finally find a text waiting from Louis, sent in the middle of the night while Harry was asleep.

_i only mean that it would be easier not seeing you because seeing you makes me miss you more .it hurts enough just knowing we’re in the same city , if i had to spend the night with you and say goodbye to you in the morning it would just kill me ,i’m sorry i love you nothing is easier than being with you but nothing is harder than saying goodbye to you :(_

And that, that makes sense. Harry didn’t consider how difficult saying goodbye would be, but Louis’s right. It’s always harder to say goodbye when they’ve had only a bit of time together, like just one night or a couple of hours. Harry didn’t even think about the fact that kissing Louis goodbye and knowing he wouldn’t see him for another few weeks would absolutely kill him, but he also can’t imagine it would hurt much more than he’s hurting now.

He tries to call Louis, but Louis’s flight was early and he’s probably already on the plane. His phone goes straight to voicemail, but Harry hangs up before the beep. He can’t bear to leave a message, wants to actually speak with Louis, wants to have a real conversation about this.

He feels absolutely horrible about going off on him the way he did. He hates knowing that Louis was just sad and trying to spare his own feelings and Harry probably made him feel so much worse, and now Harry can’t even do anything about it until Louis lands in LA. He doesn’t want to get out of bed ever, doesn’t want to go do a radio show or interviews or shows. He wants his boy and he wants him now, and he wants everything to stop being so fucking difficult for them.

He barely makes it through the radio interview, and by then he’s running late, so he’s ushered immediately to the next place. It’s hours on end, or so it feels, until he’s allowed a few hours to rest, and he finally checks his phone again. 

He has a missed call from Louis from about an hour ago, and a follow up text that says _just got back to LA._

Harry calls him immediately, locks himself in an empty bathroom and leans against the door while he waits for Louis to answer. Louis doesn’t make him wait long, picking up on the third ring.

“Hi,” he says, sounding tired. “You saw my text?”

“I saw your text,” Harry confirms. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t even think about how hard saying goodbye would be.”

“Yeah, you never do,” Louis says. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I didn’t know how to say it out loud without, like, crying, or something.”

“It’s alright,” Harry assures. “I guess I’m just disappointed that seeing me isn’t worth having to say goodbye. I’d rather see you for ten minutes and have to say goodbye after than know we’re in the same city for an entire night and not be able to see you at all.”

“I don’t know,” Louis sighs. “I disagree. I can’t stand saying goodbye to you, it hurts so fucking much. I’d rather save our time together for moments that are gonna last, you know?”

“No,” Harry mumbles. “I think every moment with you is precious and I never want to miss even one.”

“I guess this is just one of those things we don’t see eye to eye on,” Louis says. He sounds disappointed. Harry can relate.

There seem to be a lot of those things piling up lately, things they don’t see eye to eye on. It seems that there’s always something wrong or something worth arguing about, and there’s always this light on the horizon where Harry feels like someday it’ll stop and things will finally be better, but with every passing day that light feels more and more like an optical illusion.

Harry’s heart aches, but he has to hang up so he can go get in a car and go to the next place, and he thinks he knows what Louis means when he says that saying goodbye is too hard. 

“I love you,” Harry says, voice a little tight. “And soon enough we’ll be together for a whole month in LA, and we won’t have to say goodbye once for all that time.”

“I can’t wait to not say goodbye to you for a whole month,” Louis says, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “I love you, Harry.”

“Love you,” Harry says again. “I’ve got to go.”

“Alright, love, have a great time in New York, okay? And I’ll see you when you get here,” Louis says. 

“One more week,” Harry sighs. “Bye, Lou.”

“Bye, Hazza.”

Harry can’t bring himself to hang up for a few long seconds, but finally he pulls the phone away from his ear and hits the red button to end the call. He unlocks the bathroom door and shuffles back to where everyone’s waiting for him, ready to get back in the car and go somewhere else, do some more promo and talk to more people Harry doesn’t really want to talk to. In a week’s time he’ll be back in LA with Louis, and he’ll have the whole month free of promo and Louis will have some stuff to do, but they’ll be home together, finally _together_ for a good amount of time. Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel really is an optical illusion, one made up of all of these little lights, at the ends of all these little tunnels they have to keep weaving through to find each other. Maybe there’s no way out of the tunnel that is this entire situation, but all is not completely dark, and they’ll just have to keep trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	9. woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He always gets stressed when he has to stunt like this. It wears him out, the lying and the pretending and the smiling for the cameras he’d rather slap away. Harry knows that, knows that it’s so much worse for Louis to be going through it than for Harry to be watching him, so he does his best to help. For days like today, especially, when Louis hasn’t slept, Harry likes to coddle him a little, make him tea and fix his hair and pepper him with kisses and as much as Louis whines and complains about the attention, it’s always worth it when he can’t hold back a smile and he looks up at Harry with those sparkly diamond eyes and tells him, “I love you, weirdo.”_

It’s been a lovely month so far, springtime in LA, the flowers blooming and the air getting sweeter. It’s never not warm here, but the slight chill of winter has finally disappeared, and a gorgeous California summer is stretched out before them like the strip of hot sand on the beach by their house.

They’re not at their private house, though, of course, because while Harry’s got some time off to relax and process everything that’s happened recently- the album blowing up, the movie coming out, all the endless promo and interviews and lovely bits of praise from the people he looks up to and adores- Louis still has stunting to do. Harry’s completely MIA for the month, so he’s spending it cooped up in Louis’s public house, staying away from the windows and spending most days either putting around doing easy chores, or staying tangled up in bed all day with Louis when he’s not busy. He’s enjoying the time off, and he knows that being here is good for Louis, gives him something to enjoy coming home to after a long day of bullshit. It sucks having to talk him up and get him ready when Louis has to go out for a day with Eleanor or Freddie or whoever else, and Harry hates putting on a smile and watching him leave, but it’s what they have to do, and he supposes it’s better to grin and bear it than spend his life moping about things he has no control over.

Like today, as Louis’s getting ready for an entire day out with Eleanor. It’ll only be a few hours, of course, but they’ve got to cram it all in, make it look like they were really out all day. Louis’s been quiet all morning, let Harry invade his shower and wash his hair for him but said hardly a word, eyes heavy with the sleep he didn’t get last night.

He always gets stressed when he has to stunt like this. It wears him out, the lying and the pretending and the smiling for the cameras he’d rather slap away. Harry knows that, knows that it’s so much worse for Louis to be going through it than for Harry to be watching him, so he does his best to help. For days like today, especially, when Louis hasn’t slept, Harry likes to coddle him a little, make him tea and fix his hair and pepper him with kisses and as much as Louis whines and complains about the attention, it’s always worth it when he can’t hold back a smile and he looks up at Harry with those sparkly diamond eyes and tells him, “I love you, weirdo.”

Louis dumps his tea down the drain and lets the mug clatter onto the worktop, rubbing at his eye and then examining the cuticles of his other hand. Harry’s trying to look busy with his notebook at the kitchen table but he thinks he’s doing a poor job of it, thinks Louis can tell he wants to go wait at the door like a guard dog and scare Eleanor and the rest of the world away when they come knocking.

As the years have gone on, Eleanor’s sweet, I-didn’t-mean-for-this facade has crumbled, at least as far as Harry concerned. She seemed genuinely relieved when they ended it the first time, and she did well for herself, picking up modeling jobs and living a decent life. She dropped all of it the second she was offered money to help hold the closet door closed and keep Louis trapped inside, thought. She came running, and Harry’s done trying not to hate her.

Louis is too, mostly. He doesn’t even try anymore, doesn’t even attempt to make it look like he wants to hold her hand, walks ahead of her down the pavement and doesn’t hold the door for her when they’re out. Anyone looking at them would think he’s just a horrible boyfriend, but Harry knows better, wants the entire world to see just how good Louis really is, when he’s really being Louis.

Today is going to be tough. Eleanor is supposed to show up any second, so they can get pap shots of them leaving Louis’s house together, like they’ve both been here all along. Then they’re going to go pick up Freddie and do some shopping, or at least be seen in and in front of a couple stores, and then maybe get dinner somewhere and be photographed doing that, as well. Louis is worried nearly sick over the whole thing, his face pale with dread as he turns away from the sink and shuffles out of the kitchen. He was told to be ready to go by the time Eleanor gets here, and he’s so beaten down and defeated at this point he knows better than to disobey. 

Harry’s heart breaks just watching him and he gives up on scribbling uselessly in his journal, following him out of the kitchen and into the front sitting room. He’s angry, Harry is, angry that this is happening in the first place but more angry when he sees Louis sitting on the floor tying his shoes.

The Louis he knows carries his shoes to the car when they go places, tip toes down the driveway in bare feet and doesn’t wear socks unless he has to. This Louis, though, this Louis has his shoes on before the car is even here, is standing up and brushing his arse off like there’s dust on the floor, which there isn’t, because Harry’s cleaned the whole house top to bottom three times in the past week while trying to distract himself from this. It just feels like Louis is giving up, giving in; he’s not the same Louis that used to fight tooth and nail and even though he could never make things go away, he could make them better, and that was good enough for him. Now he just goes along with everything, does what they tell him to do, like he’s just accepted that things are never going to get better and he might as well get used to it. 

Maybe Harry should start thinking like that, too. He’d sure as hell be less angry all the time, even though the anger would just be replaced with defeat, and the bone crushing sadness that comes with having to pretend to be something he’s not. He considers it sometimes, considers giving up and letting himself be a puppet the way they want him to. But then he remembers that he made a promise to Louis, the same one Louis made to him back when this all started, that they were going to do what they have to do and they were going to be free by the end of it, dammit, if it was the last thing either of them ever did.

“Hey,” he says, smiling tightly when Louis turns around. “Don’t let it be so bad, yeah? Don’t think about it. When it’s over, it’s over, and we can spend the whole night together.”

Louis scoffs, turning away and grabbing his hat off the hook by the door, sweeping his hair back with one hand and slamming the hat down, a few wonky pieces of hair sticking out here and there. “Don’t let it be so bad, yeah, alright. I’ll have as much fun as I can with my fake girlfriend and my fake son having a fake day out on the town taking fake photos,” he spits. “Stop trying to make this better.”

Harry blinks, taken aback by the sudden outburst. He can’t remember when he became the bad guy, but now that he thinks about it, Louis’s been pretty standoffish all morning, and Harry’s a little annoyed at himself for not noticing. Louis likes to be left alone when he’s like this, mostly because he snaps at Harry a lot, and when he snaps at Harry, Harry snaps back, which starts a lot of stupid and unnecessary fights. 

“Stop trying to make this better?” Harry frowns. “And, what, just let you go have the worst fucking day in silence and watch from the background?”

“Yeah, actually,” Louis says. “You’re trying to help but you’re only making it fucking worse, alright? Just back off,” he mutters, brushing past Harry and throwing the coat closet open, digging through it even though it’s plenty warm outside, and he doesn’t need a jacket at all. 

“You don’t need a jacket,” Harry tells him, voice low. “But if you want to wear one and roast to death, well, don’t let me stop you.”

With that he turns on his heel, marching to the living room and slamming himself down on the sofa. His hip hits the wooden frame through the cushion and the pain just makes him a little angrier, even though he’s trying not to be. He hates arguing with Louis like this, but he can’t let it go, cannot just sit back and let Louis speak to him like that when this is fucking hard for him, as well. Sure, it’s probably harder for Louis, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat Harry like shit.

Louis stomps up the stairs a moment later and Harry pays him no mind, doesn’t go after him like Louis is probably looking for. Louis likes to fight when he’s upset, likes to argue and make everything as bad as it can be so there’s no way it can get worse, and it’s probably the quality Harry likes least in him. He gets it, sort of, but he fucking hates it, doesn’t indulge him in it when he can help it.

The doorbell rings before Louis comes back downstairs, and Harry’s stomach drops. He doesn’t get up to answer it, waiting for Louis to come back down and do it himself, but a couple of minutes go by and then the doorbell rings again, and Louis’s still nowhere to be found.

Harry drags himself off the sofa and to the door, pulling anxiously at the sleeve of his jumper while he unlocks the deadbolt and opens it. Eleanor is standing sheepishly on the front step, like she didn’t expect him to be the one to open the door.

They don’t speak much, if ever. Harry’s long grown out of not hating Louis’s fake girlfriends, and Eleanor surely should have grown out of being one a long time ago. Harry makes himself scarce when she’s around, typically, except for days like today, days where he’s been trying and apparently failing to make this all a little easier.

“Hi,” Eleanor says, breaking the awkward silence. “How’ve you been?”

Harry moves aside to let her in, even though every fibre of his being is screaming not to. “Fine,” he says tightly, shuffling back to the living room. Eleanor closes the door behind herself and follows, sitting down gingerly on the sofa with him.

“I really am sorry about this, you know,” she says quietly. “I don’t know how I got roped back into it.”

Harry hears Louis shuffling around upstairs, picking up his pace, because he hates when Harry and Eleanor talk, hates how sad it makes Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “I’d think you have to be pretty stupid to do this again, no?”

Louis comes down the stairs, then, cutting off the shocked expression on Eleanor’s face. He looks annoyed, but also sympathetic, like maybe he went upstairs to put his attitude in a drawer and try to be more pleasant. Harry hopes he locked the drawer. Or maybe that he didn’t, so Harry can go snoop later and throw it out if he finds it. 

“Haz, please,” he mutters, reaching over the back of the sofa, squeezing at Harry’s shoulder. Harry hardly resists the urge to shrug him off. 

“Whatever,” Harry breathes, turning away, unable and unwilling to look anyone in the eye right now, including Louis.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours, yeah?” Louis says. “I’ll bring home dinner, maybe? What do you want?”

Harry feels his insides go sour, his mouth twisting up. How dare Louis try to soothe him right now, when just moments ago Harry got chewed out for doing the same thing? He wants to turn around and spit in Louis’s face, a little, but he doesn’t. He can’t pretend he’s not upset right now, though, so he gives Louis his cheek when he leans in for a kiss and then locks eyes with his nose, unable to look right at him.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles. “Have fun with your son, I guess.”

Louis shatters, and it’s obvious. His breath catches in his throat and he flinches away a little, immediately straightening up and turning away to go busy himself, grabbing his wallet and keys and shoving them in his pockets. When Harry gains the courage, he looks at Louis’s eyes, finding them wet and devastated.

Harry’s body floods with guilt, but he doesn’t want to apologize, not in front of Eleanor. Eleanor looks like she just witnessed a murder, shocked and timid, following Louis to the front room quietly and sparing Harry hardly one more glance. He doesn’t move until after the door opens and closes and the house is silent, Harry’s own heartbeat punctuated by the slams of two car doors. He doesn’t let himself cry until he’s sure the car is gone, burying his face into his knees and sobbing into his track bottoms.

He’s the worst person alive, he decides, because he knows Louis is going to be torn up over that comment for the whole day, and it’s all Harry’s fault. What makes it worse is that the only person there to comfort him is Eleanor, who happens to be the last person Harry wants making Louis feel better. He’s not allowed to text or call Louis during stunts, either, because Louis gets distracted, which isn’t good for the pictures in which he’s supposed to look like he’s completely invested in his child and girlfriend, which never actually happens anyway.

He spends the day on Twitter, looking at the pap photos and fan pictures already floating around. Louis looks terrible, sad and angry with a smile painted on overtop, and Harry knows it’s all his fault. He has a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean when he’s upset, and while he knows that the way Louis deals with things isn’t healthy, he knows he too has a lot of shit to work on.

Louis doesn’t come home until evening, when the sun is starting to set and the air is cooling off. Louis doesn’t text him to let him know he’s on his way home like he usually does, just slams the door on his way in and stomps right up the stairs.

Harry doesn’t hesitate to chase after him, catching him right before he can slam the bedroom door, as well. He’s crying again, or maybe still; he’s been weeping on and off all day, so entirely consumed with guilt and sadness he couldn’t get out of his own way.

“I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing Louis’s hand and forcing him to look at him. “I’m so sorry about what I said. I was just upset, and-”

“Can you take two fucking seconds,” Louis says, voice eerily quiet and calm, “and think about how difficult this is for me? I know I treat you like shit sometimes and I’m sorry but, fuck, Harry, this is so fucking difficult and I’m sorry I snap sometimes but you fucking _broke_ me with that comment.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whimpers. “I’m not angry at you, I’m never angry at you. I’m just angry at the situation, and at Eleanor and Briana and Simon and fucking everyone else-”

“I understand that,” Louis says. “But stop fucking taking it out on me. I know I did it too and I tried to make up for it-”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, using his grip on Louis’s hand to pull him a little closer, crowding into his space. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it and I love you and thank you for everything you do, you’re allowed to snap at me sometimes if I’m not helping, and I’ll try to do better,” he assures, wiping at his face with his free hand.

Louis watches him quietly, his face soft and open and vulnerable. “No, I’m not allowed to snap at you, ever, but I do it a lot and I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, squeezing his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis sighs, dropping his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. “Now if I stop being mad at you, will you cuddle me? I’ve had absolutely the worst day.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry grins, chuckling wetly. He leads Louis to the bed and backs off a little while he kicks his jeans off, and then he lets Louis tuck himself as close to his chest as he wants, burying his fingers in his hair to massage his scalp gently.

There are a lot of things they have to work on, a lot of unhealthy habits and coping mechanisms that maybe they should try to get rid of. Harry still thinks it’s remarkable that even after all this time, even after everything they’ve been through and every fight they’ve had, his skin is still burning in every place he’s touching Louis, heart still fluttering with every soft breath Louis puffs against his neck. He’s still so fucking in love with him, wants to be where he is, even if that means following him through hell and back.

Eventually Harry shifts a little, arm falling asleep under Louis’s weight. “You didn’t bring home dinner,” he points out, waiting for Louis to bite him or tell him he was a bit preoccupied with something else. Louis doesn’t say anything, though, and Harry frowns, glancing down at him.

Louis is sound asleep on his shoulder, face half buried into Harry’s jumper. Harry grins, pressing a long kiss to his forehead, and then carefully maneuvers himself out from under him and rolls out of bed.

He makes some pasta for dinner and puts some butter and cheese in it, because it’s quick and easy and doesn’t take much thought or energy. He brings it back to bed with him and Louis blinks awake as he’s crawling in beside him, sitting up and accepting his bowl wordlessly.

Harry tangles their legs together under the covers and Louis lets him lean into his side, and it’s nice, feeling Louis’s warmth right next to him with nothing in between them and knowing that this is where they belong, this is where they’ll stay as long as they have any say in the matter.

“I know I said it earlier,” Harry says eventually, voice tired to his own ears, “but thank you, again. For everything. I know you don’t have to do any of these things for any reason other than to keep being with me, so, thank you for, like, caring so much about me, and us.”

Louis is quiet for a long moment, slurping down another noodle and then leaning over to put his bowl down. “Harry,” he says, shrugging Harry off his shoulder and taking his face in his hands. “Harry, I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Harry can’t help but grin, face heating up under Louis’s hands. Louis kisses him before he can say anything else and that’s how the rest of their evening goes, rolling around under the covers and kissing until Louis just can’t stay awake any longer, falling asleep with his careful lips pressed to the curve of Harry’s jaw. Harry tugs him closer and drifts off, as well, knowing good and well that he’s never going to stop fighting to keep this boy, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/163333547318/the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-they-dont-really) :)


	10. from the dining table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He thinks it can all probably be traced back to when Louis left him. He doesn’t even remember that, not really, can’t recall the moment, or even the day, that Louis told him tears in his eyes that he couldn’t handle it anymore and it wasn’t worth the stress, Harry just wasn’t worth the trouble. It’s all he’s been able to feel, though, that dull, empty ache that came with Louis walking out and hasn’t left since._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so uh i'm gonna preface this by saying THIS STORY HAS A HAPPY ENDING pls don't hate me i know this one hurts i cried writing it but it's all ok i swear just bear with me

Nothing quite feels real anymore. Harry doesn’t remember time passing cohesively or even when his entire life went to shit, he doesn’t remember ever feeling as horrible as he does right now, and he doesn’t remember what he did to make it happen in the first place. It’s his fault, he supposes, because it always is, because he’s immature and selfish and he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t keep pretending that things were somehow going to turn out fine.

He thinks it can all probably be traced back to when Louis left him. He doesn’t even remember that, not really, can’t recall the moment, or even the day, that Louis told him tears in his eyes that he couldn’t handle it anymore and it wasn’t worth the stress, Harry just wasn’t worth the trouble. It’s all he’s been able to feel, though, that dull, empty ache that came with Louis walking out and hasn’t left since. 

He’s been living in hotel rooms for the past few months, trying to find some corner of the earth that doesn’t make him feel as alone as he is. He’s met so many people, god, _so_ many people, but none of them are good enough, none of them even begin to ease the ache. 

The worst part is that Louis has only been better since he ended things. His music is doing incredibly well, and since he’s been able to stop lying so much in the media, his reputation is getting better, as well. He was finally allowed to end the baby scandal once there was nothing left to cover up. He released one more phony statement about how gutted he was to realize he wasn’t Freddie’s father after all this time and that was that; he was able to publically dump Eleanor the following week and ever since he’s been completely focused on his music. Harry’s so proud of him, of course he is. He just wishes Louis didn’t have to leave him to accomplish this, or that maybe Harry could have noticed earlier on that he was inhibiting Louis’s growth as an artist. He thinks deep down he always knew that, but he was too fucking selfish to ever care.

With all of Louis’s success, Harry feels like he’s fading into the background. He doesn’t want to make music, hell, he doesn’t even want to get out of bed most days. He’s never been this depressed before, never felt this defeated and useless. He wants so badly to be happy for Louis but with every article and photo and tweet he sees of Louis out there, living his life, being as happy as he’s ever been, he can only feel himself sinking deeper. It makes him feel even more selfish that he can’t just be happy for Louis’s good fortune, that all he can think about is how much he wishes Louis would call even just for a chat.

That’s the thing, as well, is that Louis hasn’t spoken to him even once since they broke up. Harry’s called more than a few times, only to be met with an answering machine. Sometimes he calls just to listen to that, since he knows Louis won’t pick up, but the sound of his sweet voice on the machine is almost good enough. Almost.

He rolls out of bed, feet hitting the carpeted floor of the hotel room too hard. It’s just barely 9am but he went to bed early last night, drank everything in his complimentary mini fridge and then passed out before midnight. He misses the numbness of alcohol coursing through his veins, misses the muddled vision and the calmness it brought him. 

With that thought he kicks open his suitcase, grabs the first t-shirt and pair of jeans he sees and pulls them on. They’re wrinkled, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t intend to be seen much today, anyway.

There was a bar on the way from the airport to the hotel that he noticed the other night, but a quick google search tells him it doesn’t open until ten. He figures he can walk there and by the time he arrives, they’ll already be open, and maybe the walk will clear his head enough to make him realize that getting drunk is probably the worst way to keep dealing with this.

He wants to call Louis again once he gets out on the pavement, maybe leave a message and let Louis know just how fucking ruined he is, that the only thing that can keep his mind off him is alcohol, so much of it he can’t see straight.

He won’t call Louis, though, because that would be selfish. Louis did what was best for him and he’s so much happier now because of it, who is Harry to make him feel guilty just because he can’t get out of his own way?

He makes good time and arrives at the bar just as they’re opening, and though it’s sad and horrible, he’s the first one at the bar. The bartender seems too young to be serving alcohol and seems weary of serving the rumpled, sad looking man that stumbled in two minutes after they opened, but she pours him the drink he orders and stays out of his way. He downs the drink in his hand and waits a few minutes before he orders another, but clearly not long enough to spare himself a worried look from the young bartender.

Drink after drink arrives in front of him and though he’s asking for them, he swallows them all with disdain. He’s not even really sure what city he’s in, let alone what country, but he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home, wants his boy back, wants his phone to start ringing in his pocket and he wants to look down and see that Louis is finally calling back, is finally ready to make up.

He gets cut off before noon, which is a new low for him. He stumbles back to his hotel in a haze, gets a little lost on one stretch of pavement that looks exactly like every other stretch of pavement in this nameless city, but he eventually finds his way back to his hotel and falls back into bed, digging his phone out of his pocket and staring at his lockscreen. It’s still a photo of Louis, and probably always will be, since he’s quite sure he’s never getting over this. He stares at Louis’s face, his bright blue eyes and his golden skin and his little button nose until the screen goes dark, and he presses the home button to make it light up again.

His fingers unlock the phone and go to Louis’s contact without his permission, and then before he knows it, he’s pressing the phone to his ear and holding his breath until it rings out.

“You’ve reached Louis Tomlinson, I either can’t make it to the phone right now or I don’t want to talk to you, so text me if it’s important! Cheers!” Louis’s voice chirps down the line, flowing right into Harry’s chest and constricting around his heart, making his breath come short. 

He hangs up before the beep, and immediately calls back. His face is wet, and he knows why, but he’s ignoring it. 

“You’ve reached Louis Tomlinson, I either can’t-”

Harry grunts and hangs up, calls back.

“You’ve reached-”

Harry sits up quickly, panting, not bothering to wipe away the tears that drip onto his phone screen as he hangs up and calls again.

The phone doesn’t even ring this time, just goes straight to voicemail. Louis is there, can see that he’s calling, and this time he didn’t care enough to just ignore him, he rejected the call as soon as it came through.

Harry, heart racing, calls back again.

“You’ve reached-”

Harry cries out a little and calls again, and again, and once more, until finally his hands are shaking too much and Louis has rejected every single call and Harry whips the phone across the room, watches it bounce off the wall and under the sofa. He sobs once and slams his face into his pillow, cries until he’s so worked up he’s sick, has to run to the toilet on legs that don’t want to carry him so he can puke up every bit of what he drank.

He spends the rest of the day in a haze, moping around and napping. It feels like no time at all has passed before it’s late, the sun long gone, the lights from the city invading his open windows and making the room too bright to go back to sleep. Not that he could sleep again anyway, since he’s been asleep all afternoon and he's far too sad, after all. 

He thinks going out might be good, since he’s more hungover now than he is drunk and drinking again would definitely help solve that problem. He doesn’t bother getting changed, knows his shirt is a bit wrinkly but that’s nothing new. He gives his hair a quick comb through with his fingers and then sets out, wandering the streets around his hotel until he finds somewhere to go.

He finds a club a few blocks over, can hear the music blaring from outside and decides that, yes, this is exactly where he needs to be. This is Louis’s favorite kind of atmosphere; maybe if Harry can get lost in it, he’ll be able to find his way home.

Before all else, he buys a couple shots, takes them in quick succession before he ducks into the crowd. Nobody here recognizes him, nobody here is even speaking English, he realizes, and he finds that he’s quite okay with that. Maybe he can find someone that will be able to help him feel better, even if just for tonight.

It doesn’t take long at all to catch somebody’s eyes on him, and while it feels almost wrong to be smiling back and dancing a little closer, he finds it’s all he wants to do tonight. He just wants to feel like somebody wants him, somebody thinks he’s worth a little risk, even just once. He doesn’t want to be alone.

She doesn’t speak English, but Harry doesn’t mind. They dance for a bit, too close and too dirty, until finally she starts tugging him toward the exit and Harry leads her back to his hotel.

She’s cuter outside of the club, under the streetlights. She’s small and curvy with soft, light brown hair and sharp features. She looks a bit like Louis, Harry thinks sourly, but she looks different enough that he’s fine with it. Her eyes, for example, are dark, dark brown, almost black. Harry’s always had a thing for blue eyes, but he’s been making a lot of exceptions recently.

It’s far from the best he’s ever had. Harry’s so drunk he can hardly perform but the girl doesn’t seem to care, her voice screechy and shrill where Harry is used to loud but still soft, still sweet. It’s quick, really quick, disappointingly quick and the girl weasels out of his cuddle after, shuffles off to use his shower and leaves him cold and full of regret. 

He doesn’t feel like himself, not at all. He feels exactly like his image in the media, the womanizer who sleeps with anything that moves, who gets drunk and makes bad decisions and does his best not to feel. He wishes he could just be that person, the one everyone wants him to be. They seem to love that image of him enough, so what’s keeping him from just becoming it? Maybe he could start dating models for no more than a month at a time in an effort to fill the gap in his heart, and maybe the love of the world will be enough to tide him over.

The girl comes back from the shower before long and curls up on his chest, her wet hair cold against his naked chest. She falls asleep in no time and Harry stays up panicking until he passes out, as well, his heart finally slowing enough to let him sleep.

-

When he wakes up in the morning, he’s alone in the bed, the girl and all her clothes gone without a trace. Harry spends a moment wondering if last night happened at all, or if he just imagined it.

He reaches for his phone, as has become routine in the morning, and checks to see if Louis has tried to contact him. He hasn’t, of course.

He can’t help himself, opens Louis’s contact and calls him, squeezes his eyes shut and presses the phone so close to his ear it almost hurts, bundles himself up under the covers and waits for the phone to ring out.

“You’ve reached Louis Tomlinson, I either can’t make it to the phone right now or-”

Harry screams, presses his face into the pillow and sobs, listening to Louis’s voice as he breaks down. He can’t do this, he really can’t, he’s not strong enough to survive without Louis. He needs him, he loves him so much, too much, maybe, and he can’t go another day without speaking to him.

It takes him a moment to realize that Louis is still talking through the answering machine, even though the greeting should have ended by now. He registers his own name through the fog in his head, tries to cling to Louis’s voice.

“Harry, what’s wrong? I’m right here,” Louis voice is saying, but he isn’t right there, he’s gone and he’s never coming back, and Harry’s going to die alone because he can’t-

He snaps awake with a gasp, sitting up and throwing the phone across the room, only to find he’s not holding a phone. He blinks at his empty hand and then frowns, jumping when a small, muscular arm snakes around his middle.

“Hey,” Louis says, tugging him back a little until Harry turns around. “Love?”

Harry blinks again, inspecting Louis for a long moment. His dream is already slipping away from him but the hurt remains, the tightness in his chest and the throbbing in his head and it’s dark in the room but that’s definitely Louis, Louis is definitely here and he’s not going anywhere, if Harry has anything to say about it.

He sobs and throws himself at him, tackling Louis back down onto the mattress. Louis huffs in surprise and Harry cries into his neck, his body trembling.

“You’re okay, shh,” Louis tells him, stroking his hands down his spine. “Harry, baby, you’re fine. It was just a dream, love.”

“I love you,” Harry cries, wiping his face against Louis’s shoulder and then leaning up to kiss him briefly, for as long as his lungs will allow. “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Louis hums, smiling gently at him. “Do you want to tell me what happened? You were screaming and crying and I couldn’t wake you up,” he frowns.

“You left me,” Harry sobs. “You broke up with me because it was too much trouble to be with me so you left and your life was so much better and easier and you were so happy but I-” he cuts off, nudging his nose against Louis’s cheek until Louis lets him tuck his face back into his neck. “It broke me, I was a mess, I couldn’t live without you.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, shocked into silence for a long few moments. He keeps tracing his hand up and down Harry’s spine, and he presses his lips to the shell of Harry’s ear, holding him tight.

“You should leave me,” Harry murmurs, voice deathly quiet and broken. “You should give up on me and leave me and your life would be so much easier, you’d be able to do so much more. But please, please don’t. Please don’t leave me, Louis.”

“I’m- what the fuck, Harry,” Louis breathes, squeezing Harry so tight that he can’t breathe. “I’m never gonna- jesus, I’d never leave you,” he assures.

Harry sniffles, picking his head up to look down at him again. “Your life would be so much easier,” he says again, but it’s unconvincing to his own ears.

“Harry- I would be nothing, _nothing_ without you,” Louis says. Harry can see tears shining in his eyes now, too, and he’s ready to kiss them away as soon as they start falling. “I would never getting over losing you. Everything I have to do is worth it, every single thing, as long as I get to come home to you.”

Harry feels his lip wobble, but he still ducks down to kiss the single tear that rolls out of the corner of Louis’s eye. “That can’t be true,” he breathes, talking against Louis’s skin so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye again.

Louis pushes him away, rolls them over so he’s on top and kisses the breath out of Harry’s lungs, long and hard and so, so good. “Don’t fucking tell me how to feel, Harry Styles,” Louis says, his voice harsh and full of emotion. Harry shivers. “Don’t you dare tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, or feel. I fucking love you, Harry, and that’s that. That’s all that matters.”

Harry swallows hard, nodding up at Louis. “Okay,” he whispers, watching as the storm behind Louis’s eyes dissipates.

“Stop thinking about it,” Louis says, putting his head down on Harry’s chest and closing his eyes. They’re quiet for a few moments, but Louis must be able to tell that Harry isn’t breathing. “Harry, stop fucking thinking about it.”

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, rolling them back over to reverse their positions, lying between Louis’s legs with his head pillowed on his chest. “Okay, sorry.”

Louis strokes his hair for a minute, and Harry’s eyes are closed but he can feel Louis watching him. It’s early, so early the sun isn’t even up yet, but Harry doesn’t intend to go back to sleep tonight. Louis plays with his hair until he inevitably drifts off, his chest swelling under Harry’s cheek with every deep, peaceful breath he takes.

Harry props his chin up on Louis’s chest and watches him, smiles at the gentle flutter of his eyelids, the twitch of his lips in his dreams. He watches him until the sun is up and streaming through the window, until he can tell Louis is about to wake up again by the way he whimpers quietly and shifts underneath him.

Harry truly is the luckiest man on the planet. He knows that, and he’ll never forget it. Yes, he may have a love that’s harder than anything he’s ever gone through, one so full of angst and trouble and misunderstandings but one that is so thoroughly worth fighting for that he’ll take all of it, he’ll take all of the pain for just a moment more with this boy, this boy that loves him so much that he’s never, ever going to give up on him. He dozes off before Louis fully wakes up and Louis lets him stay like that, plays with his hair and whispers sweet nothings into his ear to make sure his dreams are nothing but lovely, just like the boy he’s dreaming about. Someday, probably not soon, but someday, things are going to get better. They’re going to keep fighting for this love until they don’t have to anymore, until they’ve fought everything worth fighting and they’re free. This love will prevail through anything, they’re both sure, and that’s never going to change. Come hell or high water, Harry’s got his boy, and his boy has him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> if you liked the fic, you can reblog it [here](http://suspendrs-fics.tumblr.com/post/164560426392/suspendrs-the-pink-album-by-suspendrs-31k), or you can [buy me a coffee](http://ko-fi.com/alyvia) :)
> 
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